Overwatch: The Fanfiction
by YouRapscallions
Summary: A small group of heroes bands together after the first wave of the Omnic Crisis to form Overwatch. How they meet, who they care about, and how they feel as they grow into the heroes the world needs is all too human. This story follows Jack, Angela, Ana, Torbjörn, Reyes through the formation and eventual collapse of everything they build together.
1. Chapter 1

Gabriel Reyes was losing his mind. He didn't just think so, he knew so. And soon, everyone else would know. It wasn't the controlled crazy he was famous for in the U.S. armed forces, or the Special Ops division of Overwatch. It was not the formidable resolve that sent him into doomed situations time and again only to retrieve victory from the maw of certain disaster, it was just…crazy. He knew, because he was staring at a woman that no one else could see. A woman he was pretty sure wasn't there. A woman he was pretty sure…he had seen before. Two of his men stood behind him, chatting amiably, as the train they were about to hijack and plunder steamed further across Europe. They had no idea the man beside them was slowly coming unhinged. The more he saw her, with her Madeline hat and flowery sun dress, the more irritated he became…with everything. They had to be somewhere in France by now. Couldn't they just stop this thing and take the weapons, yet?

The woman smirked knowingly at him. Her kind face was betrayed by the sinister look in her eyes. She knew his mind. He scowled in her general direction, which was lounging casually across the seats just next to the two men. They probably thought he was scowling at them. Oh, well.

Just as disturbing as the fact that he was seeing a woman no one else could see, who could seemingly read his thoughts, was the anger. He had kept control of it so far, but just barely. And he didn't know why. It was simply there from the moment he awoke to the moment he went to sleep. Was it the loss of control? He, who prided himself on surgical precision, being taken down…by something that didn't even exist? It pissed him off more just thinking about it. She threw her head back and laughed, a phantom cackle just for him.

He shifted his stance, leaning against the wall of the car, looking out the window as the scenery went by. All they needed was the signal from Jesse to begin the second phase of the operation. The signal would be obvious; the train would begin to brake unexpectedly. Hopefully it didn't run off the tracks or something idiotic. That had happened. The eventual plan was to move car by car, purging the Omnic supporters, and liberate their weapons... Of course, anything really worthwhile would never make it back to Overwatch HQ. Pretty boy Morrison didn't need to know that. _Fuck, what is wrong with me?_ Jack was…his friend. They used to be best friends. But they had been growing apart. Gabriel thought it was simply a matter of working on separate teams, but the angrier he became at everything, the more he wanted to blame Jack for the bad things that happened to him. Jack always seemed to get the praise, while he got the blame when things went awry. He supposed being tall, dark, and scary made him a convenient scapegoat, but he wanted to believe in his friend. It was just becoming…harder to do. He shifted with impatience, ignoring the woman and her sadistic smile five feet away. They just had to get far enough away from everything to begin. No collateral damage, this time. Hopefully.

His glare must have been unsettling the two other men, who had stopped talking and stared forward, waiting with visible anxiety that wasn't there before. They were all dressed in identical pale gray and khaki, bristling with knives and pistols under long black coats. They wore no identification that would let anyone know which organization they belonged to. But if shit hit the fan, everyone would know. The undercover ops got in enough trouble without anyone being sure it was they who were breaking the rules outright, though. Even if that was how things got done. Not with politicking, negotiating, etc., but with action. Reyes wished Morrison would come around, but some people just had to be loved. And politics had sucked him in. Cynical reality versus idealism…would their fate be sealed by internalizing such opposing truths?

The sudden screech of metal on metal coupled with an abrupt jerk in the fluid forward motion of the train informed the men that it was time. The lights went out, though that wasn't much cover, as daylight poured in through large windows on either side of the cars. Wordlessly, they moved forward methodically and without hesitation, at a slight crouch with rifles at the ready. Reyes wondered what had taken so long. The woman only he could see smiled and followed him silently through the darkened cars.

If there was anything bothering him more than the fact that he knew he was slipping, it was the fact that he had seen the woman before. He just couldn't remember where. Brow furrowed in concentration as he slipped from one cleared car into the next, it was his last thought before his body jerked to the side involuntarily. As the bullet entered, he cursed himself for not paying more attention. He hit the deck on flat his back, not on purpose. The air whooshed from his lungs. His eyes stung with involuntary tears, as an overwhelming heaviness took over his body. The woman stood over him and laughed. A firefight broke out over his head, but he was as helpless as a lamb. He had no idea how many they were up against, or how his team was doing. He surmised that they'd likely stumbled upon the cache, and his head was so out of the game that he walked right into a bullet like an amateur. Worse, now he was lying ineffectually on his back while his subordinates did all the work. The great Gabriel "Reaper" Reyes, taken out on a straight forward heist because he was daydreaming about a woman. And not even a good woman. His daydream was a psychotic Madeline.

After a while, the din quieted and one of the men—Riley—knelt down to check on him. Without a word he removed a small emergency aid kid from a standard issue field pack they all carried. "You look a little rough there, boss" the former marine mused. He didn't meet Gabe's eyes as he spoke, working methodically, to assess the damage and determine the best course of action.

"Disrobing me already? You haven't even bought me dinner," he choked, trying to quell the involuntary shudders that wracked his limbs. The young man forced a smile at the awkward joke. He had to remove Gabriel's jacket and cut away part of his gray sleeve to treat the wound.

"I'm good, I'll be alright" he muttered, forcing himself to sit part of the way up and take in his surroundings. Riley adjusted his angle to compensate, but never ceased in his ministrations. They were surrounded by crates stacked from floor to ceiling. The next three cars were identical minus the six bodies in this one. They were all labeled "medical supplies." Gabriel snorted, and gestured towards them. "Please tell me that's the stash."

Riley grinned "Yes boss, and we're going to look and see if there's anything good in there before extraction gets here. But if you want anything, you'll have to get off your ass." He had already administered a coagulant into Reye's wound to stop the bleeding, and a shot of morphine to numb the pain. The levity must mean the wound wasn't too serious. It was also a kindness Reyes wasn't used to getting. Hell, he wasn't used to getting injured. The woman smirked over Riley's shoulder as he finished administering first aid to his boss. She tilted her chin and drew a finger in a line slowly from one side of her neck to the other in a sickening gesture. He sat up the rest of the way, and with the help of the other man, clambered to his feet. He felt like shit. Worse, he knew he needed a real doctor's attention. That bullet was probably in there doing real damage. The injection would only keep him from bleeding out, and the morphine would keep him from thinking about how bad it was until it was too late.

"Check this out, boss!" the other man hailed to them from the front of the car. That was Stentson, the other and less medically inclined of the two. He and Reyes had shared a lot of time in the military together, so he was comfortable with Reyes' cantankerous demeanor, while Riley just seemed adaptable to anything. There was a hint of what might pass as concern on the man's face. _Probably wondering if I'm going to kick the bucket so he can get more guns._

Stentson had pried the first crate open to reveal what was within. Not weapons like they were told to expect. Spare parts. Lots of them. He and Riley continued opening crates. Buckets of bolts, panels, circuit boards, etc. that could and would be used to create more of the murder machines that could shift from bipedal soldiers to stationary Gatling guns without preamble. Those things had taken down more people Reyes' knew in his lifetime than every other worldly ill combined, in less than a year's time. They had the advantage over mankind in every way. Their masters were also artificially intelligent, human like in visage, but without the impediment of mortality. Worse, rights organizations would often advocate for the robots, saying it was not their fault, that they had been tampered with. As if that made them less dangerous. Hundreds of thousands dead…because of a hopped up computer virus. Even as their kind murdered indiscriminately and remorselessly, there were groups that advocated "peace between Omnic and human" as if such a thing were possible. As if a few lines of code couldn't corrupt their "peaceful" friends in a heartbeat. The best Omnic was a dead Omnic, Reyes thought, and he was just the man to take them down, even if the stuffed shirts didn't care for his methods.

Jesse McCree shared his opinion, at least about the higher ups. They never engaged in deep political discussions, but it was the bond which held Blackwatch together. The willingness to do what needed to be done to save mankind from what they had created. Technology was amazing, Reyes was the first to admit it as he was not bleeding out on the floor of the car where the mercenaries had shot him. But it had a dark side. A dark and twisted side. Even a man like him, a man who didn't mind killing for profit, had enough moral compass to see that. Corpses now littered the car, almost an afterthought, as the men rifled through he crates. The advanced team entered the car from the front, having swept the train clear of resistance from the forward compartments.

"How's it going back here?" A man with a deeply southern accent stepped through the sliding doors into their car. He too, wore the bland fatigues, but he carried a 6-shooter and wore a cowboy hat in defiance of all organizational regulations. Reyes respected that. He was going to have to get his own gimmick one day. Probably…not country western though. Being from L.A., he doubted his ability to pull off The Duke.

Obviously injured and leaning against the wall to support himself, Reyes smirked. "Oh, you know, same as usual. Murder, mayhem…professionally, of course..." Despite the dull roar coming from the bullet hole, he couldn't help but take a jab at a man he had respect for, though he wasn't able to keep the strain from his voice completely. "What the hell took so long, though? I expected to be done with this a couple hours ago." When he moved away from the wall a streak of blood remained where he had been standing. Jesse arched a brow, while Riley and Stenton continued to sift the crates just in case there was something more interesting.

"Oh, you know how setting explosives can be delicate business. It takes exactly the right amount if you don't want to blow yourself sky fucking high. Oh, and you have to be careful about when you set them off as well." The man rolled his eyes at Reyes' facetiously as he spoke. He was surreptitiously eyeballing the bullet hole in Reyes shoulder as well. "Our extraction team is inbound, so we should be back at HQ within a couple hours. They'll blow this scrap heap, so hang on until then." Reyes' had to keep himself from openly sneering until Jesse turned his back. He was not an injured kitten. He was a grown man…and he would not be condescended to about an injury. A _rare_ injury. He was about to say something when he noticed the woman in the corner laughing at him. This time, he did sneer. Nobody noticed.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel Reyes knew he was dreaming. He had been to this nightmare hell before, watched this theatre play out several times. He'd seen the horror of what he'd allowed to happen again and again over the past few months. It was the night everything changed for him. The night he started to believe he could only ever be a villain. The night the seed was planted, and started to grow. He had finally stopped asking himself what he could do differently. Now he just let the dream play out as it always did.

The midnight sky was a cascade of stars, more than he was used to seeing. There weren't any major cities within a hundred miles, likely why the perp had holed up here. It was just a sleepy mid-sized desert town sitting on the coast. It survived by being a good central point to refuel and load up on shipping supplies, but nothing further. A light breeze ushered white-gold sand from dune to dune, causing the reedy plants growing upon them to sway hypnotically. In his dream version of these events, he felt nothing. Not the warm embrace of a coastal desert night, nor the breeze against his face. The town and its outskirts were empty, no lights illuminated the windows or streets.

He wore nothing but black. Black pants, black suit, and a black skull cap—typical garb for a night raid. He carried several pistols, a rifle, and two long serrated blades on either hip. He also kept a boot knife, and though it wasn't required, wore two more blades strapped to his back beneath his jacket. It was just good operating procedure to have a lot of weapons on hand, in case some were lost or dropped. He encouraged his teams to always do the same.

He was leading a group into this bustling little town to apprehend a known and notorious distributor of malicious software that affected robots worldwide. If the source code got out, not only could there be an escalation in the war, but the fragile peace that existed between man and machine would be forever shattered. It was already strained. Every time they contained an iteration of the virus, another one was introduced affecting a different population. This woman, Azaleea, was an architect of the greatest chaos in the last century. Not that Reyes cared overmuch either way. So long as he got his money, he was happy. It didn't matter if the mark was good, or bad to him. Through his friendship with Jack and his employment as leader of the Overwatch strike team, he had been after mostly bad people as of late.

The dream blurred around him and he found himself transported to the place where it had all happened once more. The vast, white and red stone villa with a clay tile roof where he had once tracked the suspect, a woman clad in a black cloak, towered above him. She had entered less than half an hour before he arrived, and he'd had the place surrounded so that she could not escape when the team went in.

He stood in the doorway leading into an atrium. He remembered this part well. It was the ledge that gave way, allowing for a violent avalanche to follow shortly behind. The straw that broke the camel's back. He gave the signal and he entered with seven men. Several people were gathered around a table playing cards. It looked to be a few middle aged relatives and a couple of children. The men wore loose pants and vests, and the women colorful gowns of silk that tied over their shoulders. Reyes scanned the room and signaled for the men to search the ground floor. One of the men who had been playing cards spoke rapidly and angrily at him, but Reyes could not speak his language and didn't bother listening. He drifted over towards the kitchen, thinking their might be a root cellar to check before second guessing himself. _Not in this topography._ Anyway, the room was empty aside from a few strange looking vegetables. He took a moment to appreciate how different everything was here. Meat laid out to dry, vegetables and even eggs were not refrigerated.

Reyes preoccupation was interrupted by a crash emanating from the entertaining room the family was in. He hurried back through the doorway, drawing a pistol instead of the rifle that was slung over his shoulder. It seemed like overkill at this point. Unfortunately, one of his men (Anders?) stood over a woman with a gun aimed at her head. "This bitch tried to stab me!" he shouted, an angry look in his eye. A dull looking kitchen knife sat uselessly on the floor next to a toppled card table. Not good. Reyes' wasn't able to stop the man from clubbing her across the face with the back of his rifle, but at least he didn't shoot her. The woman went down like a sack.

"Maybe she should have!" He shouted, knowing the kind of attention that action alone would bring upon his team. "That way we wouldn't have to waste gas on someone who is just going to get fired, and court martialed when we get home." He grunted. Anders spit, but said nothing. He knew Reyes couldn't fire him and that no one had ever faced the tribunal working for Overwatch.

The problem was less the woman who had tried to stab Anders—and more that the villa was filled with what appeared to be civilians, and they were not happy. The woman he wanted was not there, or at least not in plain sight. Had she made it out the back, and through his force on the perimeter? No, she was probably hiding somewhere in the house. Anders now stood far back from the group, looking a combination of angry and fearful of his own actions. Knife or no knife, HQ would still shit. Several people had cameras out, recording the events since they had no other recourse. All they saw was a flood of armed men entering through the front, disrupting a family gathering, with no stated reason. Of course, it might help if someone spoke their language. It also struck Reyes as odd that so many members of one family were up at this late hour, but that might just be a cultural thing. He didn't know. To the news and other naysayers, it wouldn't matter that the family was harboring a known criminal mastermind. All that would matter is that they looked like bad men on camera. Above him he heard light footfalls, and ignoring the angry men and women clustered together in the front room, he headed for the stairs. Some of his men stood guard below, while he ascended into the unknown.

When he reached the top step, he crossed into a landing that split into two separate hallways. The infinitesimal squeak of a hinge alerted him to a presence down the hall to the right, so he padded down the carpeted hall in that direction. Much of the building was white stone, though runners and decorations made it pleasant and homey. Well, until he and his team arrived to apprehend the criminal, that was. Would the family be as upset if they knew their daughter was responsible for a program that could cause a worldwide catastrophe? Were they complicit? He wasn't sure, and neither was intel, but he intended to find out. Capture or kill, he could do either, but the preference was for capture.

He reached the door in the hallway where the sound had come from. It was partially cracked. Was she even now hiding from him on the other side of the door? Or had she escaped out a window? That would be a waste of time, since he had guys all around the building. He assumed that since he hadn't heard a peep from the men outside, that she was likely still in the room. There was no way she could escape, he just had to try and ferret her out without providing the kindling for any other PR disasters. This good guy shit was getting tiresome.

He nudged the door open with his boot, and hugged the wall just in case there was anyone armed waiting for him beyond. Nothing happened. Not satisfied, he lobbed a smoke grenade through the now fully opened doorway. It wasn't an overly caustic brew, it would cause coughing and burn the eyes of anyone standing in its haze, though. That was all he needed at this point. He heard it land and roll across the floor, accompanied by a smooth click and hiss as it started dispensing its contents. After a moment, a feminine cough came from within the room. Bingo. Time to get this over with, and get home.

"Hands up!" He made his way into the room, rifle now at the ready. She just stood there, right in the middle of it all, not attempting to hide or cowering in fear as the smoke slowly cleared. She wore a loose gown of purple and black, slashed with red. It tied around the neck and left her shoulders bare. Her cloak lay across a twin sized bed in the corner of the room. Like the rest of the house, it was well decorated, and the floors were laid with plush carpets. Her hair was a wavy chestnut. Her eyes, however, were bottomless pits of despair. Completely and utterly wreathed in hated for everything. She wore a vest of explosives over her lovely gown, like festive jewelry. "Shit." Reyes was glad he hadn't let any of the other men accompany him up to this part of the house. "Azaleea, I presume?"

"Why hello. Good of you people to drop in to my family's home with guns instead of the customary dinner dish" she replied in accented Spanish. As if he and his men were just in the neighborhood visiting. "Just so you know, by coming here, you've killed us all, Gabriel Reyes." He jerked. She knew his name. There had to be an intel leak, and if she had her way, he would never make it back to report upon it. "My family…their blood is on your hands. And you know what else? It won't make a damn bit of difference. Because the information you seek is already out there. The program is on the web, in the wild. All that's left is for it to reach its targets. No one can stop it."

He wasn't sure what to say. He never expected her to volunteer so much information. No one ever did. It was a little too easy. Worse, he couldn't even tell what her motivation was. It didn't seem to be money. Even though she was strapped and ready to blow, something seemed off. Sweat trickled down his back.

"You don't have to hurt anyone. Come quietly, and cooperate. You will not be poorly treated." The key was sounding confident about his own ability to live through this and make good on his promises. He had never been so far off his game. His confidence was gone, and his nerves were actually shot. The amount of ordinance she was strapped with would easily take down the entire house, the family below, and his team. Perhaps the men on the perimeter would make it. "Listen…lady..."

"No, you listen," she spat at him. "Your kind…you soldiers; you are the scum of scum. Human beings…are nothing but a blight. We have existed for but a fraction of the lifetime of the earth, and still managed to kill it. We are not worthy to exist." Okay, he grew up in LA so he had heard this speech before from more than one person. Except those people didn't have bombs strapped to their chest. He involuntarily arched a brow at her.

"Lady, you look pretty human to me. You're a part of this too. And those people down there, they haven't done anything wrong. They are your family, aren't they?" He wasn't the best negotiator, but he had to try. Through it all, she seemed unperturbed by the fact that if she followed through with her threat, she would be murdering her closest relatives.

"They'll understand. They'll know it's for the greater good." What kind of Kool-Aid was she drinking? "And if they don't, well, they're only human." Another wry smile touched her lips."Besides, when the purge comes, and there are no people left…my consciousness, and theirs…will be uploaded into the mind of the new, superior race. This death is temporary." She sounded absolutely certain. The purge? He had an idea what that might entail, but he didn't want to find out first hand. She didn't wait for him to respond again, instead, she began reaching for the trigger.

Everything happened at once. Reyes couldn't let her flip that switch. In his panic, he did something completely suicidal. He dove across the room towards her. Azaleea wasn't expecting it, clearly she expected him to try to flee down the stairs or try for the window. She started for a moment in surprise, and that gave him the moment he needed to survive. He tackled her before she was able to send them all to the great gig in the sky to drink Kool-Aid together. With his thick, athletic frame it was easy to overpower her tiny one. He wrestled the explosive vest off of her, and shoved her into the wall. It took only a few seconds to put her in cuffs. He shackled her wrists behind her back, and her feet for good measure. She was so unhinged he didn't trust her to obey the laws of physics.

Reyes hadn't realized he had been sweating profusely during their "conversation", but he had been. He took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow onto his shirt. He needed a drink. He took a moment to catch his breath, and reached for the radio on his hip.

When gunfire erupted from downstairs, he went from mopping his brow in relief to feeling sheer disgust. God, what now? He clutched his two-way radio and called down. He may or may not have heard the perimeter guys saying something over coms when he was in the thick of things with Azaleea a few moments back. Surely there was no problem big enough down there that they needed to use their damn rifles, though. When nobody answered on the radio, he cursed, and moved out the door and back down the hallway towards the stairs. What the fuck was going on that they were tearing up the building?

But it wasn't his guys. Well, not entirely. It was the local police. They had been called, and Reyes' group had been accused of terrorism by whomever placed the call. That was entirely too cunning to be coincidental. Now they were not only a group that beat up women at family gatherings, they were terrorist vigilantes who exchanged fire with police. He shouted for the men to hold their fire, to stop, he tried to get it under control. But it only ended when the last of the local authorities were laid out in a pool of their own blood on the cool stone floor. It had really happened too quickly for anything to be done. The whole place smelled of blood and gunpowder. And utter, abominable failure.

He heard a noise from the room where Azaleea was detained. With a defeated sigh he jogged back down the hallway towards the room. He needed to round her up along with his men, and get the hell out before the locals started turning up in force. They had made enough noise to wake the entire town by his estimation. He had thought shit had hit the fan before, but when he stepped back in the room to find Azaleea missing, he reevaluated. They had now officially failed this op, and definitely made their reputation worse. The window was opened, and his cuffs lie beneath it on the floor mocking him. He had only been gone a few minutes...

In defeat, he radioed to the extraction team, and briskly made his way back downstairs to his men. In all, several members of the family had been shot or injured, five police were dead, a woman had been knocked out, and the mark had escaped. Worse, if she was to be believed, her God program had already been uploaded. If that was the case, though, detaining her wouldn't have changed things. She had obviously done that before she came to this remote location. He stepped over bodies and crunched over debris. This entire night seemed like one carefully planned out failure. The intelligence was either bad, or leaked. The police had been waiting. The mark had been expecting them, and almost killed them all. Gabriel removed his hat, and ran his hand across his scalp. What would the world become with killer robots on the loose everywhere? Would he and Jack be able to stop them? Did he even want to go further down this good guy rabbit hole? It had almost just gotten him blown to bits.

Reyes regrouped with the team around the perimeter of the house. Within a few minutes they had made their way swiftly out of the small town towards the beach. The helicopters would come, and take them back to HQ in Switzerland, where he could claim his trophy for failure. Feeling bleak, he didn't notice anything unusual until it was too late. Antisocial at the best of times, Reyes rarely formed a rapport with anyone. He knew his guys by face, but he didn't notice when their behavior was out of the ordinary. He didn't notice how one of the guys was smaller, or quieter than usual. He didn't notice a thing.

They had been out over the open ocean for a few minutes when the sky ignited in a wave of orange and red in front of Reyes transport. When the helicopter blew, it hit him like a ton of bricks. They were far enough back from the lead helicopter that his was able to avoid taking any damage or being blown out of the sky. But he still felt the heat of the inferno that the other helicopter had become. No one could have survived that. Everyone was scrunched together, trying to see out anything they could. Reyes was looking around for any sign of explosives in his craft. He never noticed the out of place "man" sidle up next to him. So it was surreal when her voice crooned in his ear…

"Your turn." And the world turned to fire and ice.

_

Gabriel Reyes woke up from the repeat nightmare, but resisted the urge to fully open his eyes. Wherever he was, it was bright and cold...much more so than the last place he remembered being. He was lying down on a narrow bed, wearing the same pants he had dressed in this morning. His shirt was completely gone, however. Through his lashes he could see a figure. It was the woman nobody else could see, she was staring down at him. For some reason, instead of taking the form of a grown up Madeline, she now looked like Azaleea. Azaleea who had killed half of his men, and pushed him out of the helicopter to be devoured by the sharks prowling through the wreckage for an easy meal. In the chaos, nobody had even noticed her. It figured he would dream about her after getting shot. That was the only other time he had been significantly injured on a mission. With everything else going on with him, if he wasn't absolutely positive she had been real back then, he would really be questioning himself. But she was very real, and she had eluded capture with finesse 6 months ago.

When she moved towards him, he heard the echo of heeled boots clicking on the tiled floor. He realized in that moment it wasn't the spectre he was seeing, but an actual person. Azaleea was here, in this room in HQ. He realized he had to be in the hospital. Gentle beeps ticked resounded every moment or so. Monitors and the purring of machines were the only nearby sound. In the distance he could hear voices, probably the scientists working on that new Valkyrie suit prototype.

Azaleea leered over him with something in her hand. For some reason, she was wearing a lab coat. Her image blurred and overlapped with something else. Someone else? Shit, was his eyesight going? Had she drugged him already? She had proven herself handy with disguises in the past, as well as infiltration. It boiled his blood to see her standing over him now, when he was weak, in what very well should be his place of sanctuary. He had no idea how much medication he was hopped up on, but it had to be a lot. His limbs felt…gelatinous. But he wasn't about to let her get away this time. Especially since she had the gall to come here in person. No longer pretending to be asleep, he reached up to grab her throat, fully intending to finish the job he botched the first time.

Her flesh felt warm beneath his weak fingers, and if he hadn't been shot in the same arm, he would have been able to crush her tiny windpipe easily enough. Whatever, he would settle for strangling her slowly. It was strange that she didn't resist at first. Then, when he applied lethal pressure, Azaleea attempted to scream. She trashed wildly, but he rolled towards her to grab her with his other hand. It seemed strange that Azaleea didn't sound quite as he remembered. In fact, it didn't really sound like her at all. Plus, she had just stood there over him stupidly while he reached for her throat. It was almost as if she didn't expect him to try and hurt her.

He continued to apply pressure up until a sudden jerk downward brought him to the floor, and he lost his grip. Vaguely he heard an alarm sounding nearby. Reality seemed to rush in all at once. "Code blue to room 104" blared over the speakers. Code blue? That was for heart patients right? Was someone having a heart attack? People flooded the room, but Azaleea was no longer standing over him. On the floor, scooted back towards the door a young, pale, doctor with blonde hair and striking blue eyes sat, surrounded by people. Tears ran from her eyes freely. Her hand covered her throat, but even he could see that it was a startling purple-red bruised mass where he had been squeezing.

"Oh, fuck me." He said, as he sat up. Azaleea had never been there at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Angela Zeigler was not having the best day. Or was it days, at this point? She was still in the medical wing of Overwatch HQ, where she had been since 06:00 on Friday morning. Since then, moments of respite from working had been brief and sacred. She was done with everything she absolutely needed to get done for the time being. Her patients were all doing well, though she only had one who needed real looking after. She glanced over at the clock on the break room wall, which was modeled after the antique analog timepieces people used to wear around their wrists and plaster to their walls. It read 10:00, which was confirmed by the satellite clock below it, along with the date. Monday morning. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Well, bullet wounds didn't exactly heal themselves. And she had been asked to stay and assist after her regular shift had ended Saturday morning. Gabriel Reyes was the patient, and the bullet had nearly put a hole in his left lung. He had still refused to let anyone help him until he was already inside the hospital, where he had promptly collapsed along one of the bland, off-white walls, trailing blood down behind him. It was a mess. The orderly wasn't pleased, either. Apparently nobody was able to talk sense into the man, even wounded as he was. Stubborn ass. In the end, it took several members of the staff to help get him off the floor. He was…a massive man. He had toned muscles everywhere it was possible to have them, and thighs like tree trunks. She had never put much thought into lifting patients before, as they'd always arrived on a stretcher or been placed on the bed before she arrived. It was…an experience. One she had better get used to. Once the Valkyrie suit was finished, she would be doing the field testing.

As for the operation itself, it took some time. Angela was tired, so she had made herself be extra careful. The slower she went, the more tired she felt, but it reduced the chance of mistakes. She adhered to the rules by the letter, calling out every single action to her surgical nurse. It was redundant, but practical. No sense in leaving a sponge inside the patient! In the end, she switched off with another surgeon once the bullet was removed for closing. Her second was more competent than she was, because he second was not exhausted. She had scrubbed out and made her way to the break room to acquire caffeine. Surely she should be looking for bed, but she didn't feel like it. It felt like…too much was happening. With someone as close to the Commander lying in a hospital bed, and she the surgeon…she felt like it was wise not to wander off too far. She'd only end up walking back up the hill from the barracks if she went home.

So she scrounged a cup of the watery, weak breakroom coffee, and pulled out her phone to pass the time. There were several messages, most related to the patient. Many from numbers she didn't have programmed in. A few from people she knew. She stared down at them in a haze of exhaustion. The break room felt strangely warm around her.

"Did everything go okay? How is he? Why did the surgery take so long?" Those sorts of things. She answered her boss first, and then her colleagues, while she relaxed on the overstuffed paisley sofa. She ignored the unknown numbers. They really could get some furniture that didn't look straight out of the 1990's in here. But with the world going to hell…furniture wasn't really on anybody's top priority anyway. Besides, it was comfortable enough to sit on.

Working for Overwatch wasn't exactly Angela's cup of tea, especially in a war torn world. She usually tried to keep her thoughts mundane, or related to saving lives. She tried to ignore the fact that the organization she worked for was sometimes criticized for their overzealous tactics. She convinced herself that they operated on the side of the greater good. They got results. She told herself that more lives were saved than lost if Overwatch didn't exist at all. With those thoughts in her head, she barely noticed that she was dozing off. The warm sensation had enveloped her. It was cool in the room, but not uncomfortable on the couch with her body heat. Combined with the fluffy couch and the coffee that had very little caffeine in it and…she was out like a light.

***

Sometime later, Angela woke up feeling slightly stiff from sleeping on the sofa sitting up. Some benevolent soul had happened by and draped a warm blanket over her. She smiled to herself at the thought of the small kindness. Her coworkers were all very nice people. They were always taking care of one another in small ways. She had always cautioned herself not to get too close. But still, she couldn't help letting herself get to know a few people inside and outside of the medical wing. Even if it was a bad idea. Even if it would lead to some future heartache. She wasn't going to spend all of her time here alone. How long had she been out?

She didn't even have time to turn around to the clock before a bright faced young pilot strode through the door. Lena! Alongside her was the strike commander, Jack Morrison. He was…a striking man. Tall, extremely muscular, blonde and charismatic. He honestly was not her type, she thought, but he was striking nonetheless. He seemed the type to not…need anyone. Too beautiful, too cold. She smiled in greeting, and stifled a yawn as she stood up, discarding her warm blanket and accumulated body heat.

"Commander, and Miss Lena, what brings you in today?" Lena was cheerful, teasing and poking without any regard for rank or authority. If she wasn't such an amazing pilot, Angela doubted she would get away with it. Or perhaps Commander Morrison had a better personality than he exuded, Angela thought. Either way, before he could respond, Lena spoke over him. He grimaced, but let her speak over him anyway.

"Jack here was worried about his friend. I told him you did the surgery." she winked "so there was absolutely nothing to worry about. But you weren't answering your phone, so he had to come see for himself." Her phone had been ringing? She fished it out from between the couch cushion it had settled in during her nap. Indeed, there were several missed calls. Most were from the same number.

"Ah, yes, sorry about that." She tried to force a small smile. "I don't generally answer when I don't know the number…" She stopped trying to come up with a reason for not answering. He was scrutinizing her too heavily, and being tired and leery of strangers both seemed to be inadequate excuses in her mind. The feeling that she had shirked her duty was building. The commander was staring at her. Judging her. Waiting for her explanation. "I don't have any excuse. Sorry. The surgery went well, as far as I know. I didn't close the wound myself." At that, the commander's eyebrows raised.

"Well, if you didn't, who did? And where is Reyes?" There was ice in his tone that brooked no nonsense, no further excuses on her part. This was not a friendly conversation any longer, if it ever had been. He was clearly less than impressed with her. Angela hesitated, and it that moment Lena took over again. 

"Come on, Commander, cheer up! I'm sure he's fine…he's just…where is he, again Ang?" Morrison grunted noncommittally. If it weren't for Lena, Angela might have lost her mind in front of this man. He was beautiful, but he was so rigid…and definitely intimidating. He exuded authority. But she took the opportunity Lena's interruption gave her, and made her way across the room. She had already stepped around them toward the door, and grabbed her lab coat off the top of the couch. Sliding into it, she looked back over her shoulder.

"He'll be in recovery, this way please." She said it professionally, too professionally. She knew she sounded nervous. Or maybe just sleepy. What was there to be nervous about? Nothing, she knew. But somehow, she felt that if she messed this one thing up, her entire career and all of her contributions wouldn't matter anymore. The pair followed behind her down the hallway. It was a long, bland corridor. The floor tiles were gleaming and the walls were off white. In all, the medical wing was plain, with nothing in the hallways to stare at. Nothing to stare at except Angela's backside in this instance. She felt their eyes boring in between her shoulder blades as she whisked down the hallway. Laser eyes. She was so nervous about it, that she nearly walked past the recovery wing and squeaked to a stop on the over buffed tiles. Trying to disguise her abrupt stop by leaning against the door frame and spinning on her heel, she lost her balance. Lena was close enough to grab the sleeve of her coat, but it slipped through her fingers, and making a distinct whisking sound as Angela tumbled. Everything afterward happened in slow motion. It was an unfamiliar sensation that only happened when the brain lost total control of the body. Like being shot, she imagined, when the body contorted and the brain struggled to explain the situation in the immediate moments after it occurred. There was nothing she could do, but observe herself falling. She would probably break her ankle when her weight came down on it. All that information registered in a split second, but it felt like it took minutes. She squeezed her eyes shut, aware of what was coming. But she never fell.

The instant she lost control of herself, and fell out of Lena's grasp, she landed against something warm and hard. Oh god. Oh god no. It was the commander. First she was sleeping on the job, and now she was falling all over him. She opened one eye tentatively. He was looking down upon her, expression unreadable. Ice blue eyes assessing. Was he angry? Did he think she was stupid? He held her there for a moment, braced against him, before gently nudging her back onto her own two feet. Angela knew she was beet red. Lena was laughing and saying something about Angela's brand new feet.

"Alright then, if you two are done…?" 

The commander actually growled at that barb. Angela quickly took off ahead of them, through the double doors into the recovery wing without looking back muttering her thanks to Morrison. She was never going to live this down, because she knew Lena was never going to let it go. The other woman was…an enigma. She was barely old enough to be called an adult, but she was the best pilot anyone had ever seen. She took risks nobody else would take, and made them look casual. And she was beautiful. She was tiny, with short brown hair. She always seemed to be jogging from place to place. And she wore goggles even when she wasn't flying. Angela would like to call her a friend, but it felt like an assumption. Angela felt too old to have friends so spritely and pure.

She inquired with the nurse's station briefly about the room, and walked them towards it. He was in the back corner of the wing, so she led them there. The door was open, but nobody was visiting. She made her way inside with Lena and the Commander. Reyes was sleeping in his bed, but he appeared to be having fitful dreams. She checked his vitals, which were good. She checked his chart, he'd been medicated on schedule. He was just having a dream.

"He's fine, he's just dreaming. He'll probably be waking up soon. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Can I get you anything before I check on the other patients?" Angela made a point to look up, though she found it difficult to maintain eye contact with Lena, who flashed her a wry grin. The Commander was also staring at her with those cool, intense eyes. She could feel him staring at her directly, but she focused on Lena as best she could. Angela thought about the strength his arms must have, holding her up with no effort at all. She knew the moment she was going to blush and immediately turned her back, stepping towards Reyes, making a show of observing his monitors. "It'll be good for him to see familiar faces when he wakes up."

"No, thank you doctor," was all the Commander said before he brushed by her to check on his friend. He sounded gruff for someone so young, but a little of the edge was gone out of his tone. Angela looked at his back for a moment, and then to Lena who was staring at her, eyes full of mirth. Without another word, Angela exited the room and stepped out into the hall. Lena didn't follow immediately after, so she picked a nearby door opened it. An empty room. Angela stepped in, and shut the door quietly behind her. She needed to catch her breath, focus her mind…focus. Think about anything but the Commander. He was her superior. She felt the heat in her cheeks again and knew that it was too late not to feel flighty, uselessly distracting emotions. She would just have to control herself through willpower in the future. But for now…she had had to get something out of her system. She locked the door behind her, and made her way over to the bed. 


	4. Chapter 4

Angela opened her eyes. She had dozed off in an empty exam room after overcoming her imagination. Hopefully it was out of her system, now. She had important work to complete, and did not need such a distraction. She shrugged on her white lab coat, and padded towards the door. It had only been about 45 minutes. Would they be gone? She didn't mind if Lena was still there, but Angela felt that she would rather avoid the Strike Commander for the foreseeable future. His gaze was piercing, and it made her uncomfortable. She opened the door and stepped into the brightly lit, unimaginative hospital hallway. They really needed to paint it. Stark white showed everything that touched it, making the hallways look far dingier than they were beneath the unforgiving florescent illumination. Maybe Angela could work on a mural. She wasn't awful with a large canvas. Happily, no one took extraordinary note of her presence, as her chosen room was frequently used to store extra trauma supplies. They didn't have a lot of long term critical care patients at the moment.

She made her way towards the nurse's station, in the opposite direction from Gabriel Reyes' room. There were two women sitting behind a long, high counter. The others must be off checking vitals, administering medications, and so on. A short, broad woman looked up and waved a hello as Angela approached. Her nametag read "Clare." Angela barely had time to get to know the constantly rotating nurses; between her research and actual procedures, she rarely did rounds or made contact with them directly. Computers took the humanity out of things in that way, she thought.

"Has there been any change with our gunshot wound," She asked before she overthought it and it showed on her face. Angela was proud of herself for managing to sound cool and collected. Maybe she was doing better than she thought about managing her stress. Maybe the Commander had just thrown her off guard because she was exhausted. It's not like she had shot his friend. It's not like she had made him continue to fight on wounded, or delay treatment thereafter. She had done the best she could. So why did she feel so judged?

"Ah!" recognition flashed briefly across the nurse's expression, and she pecked a couple words into her terminal. So, this woman was directly involved in the patients care. Excellent. Encouraged, Angela leaned against the counter, and stretched her back muscles luxuriously like a cat. It felt wonderful. The older woman smiled without looking up, clicking her way to the patients electronic chart.

"His vitals are good; blood pressure is looking better all the time. We're just waiting for him to wake up." Clare looked back down at the paper charts she was working on. Those were always maintained as a backup, but they weren't up to the minute. After a moment, she started softly typing, giving no more of her precious attention to the hovering doctor. A passive dismissal. Angela didn't have any other pertinent questions, anyway. She decided she would go see the patient herself and stop annoying the nurse, and turned to head that way.

It was only about a minute down the hall. She could have come this way herself earlier. But she was avoiding the room for some reason. It wasn't as if she had done anything wrong though. Why should she hide? Had she been afraid the Commander would be there? Afraid of distractions? She barely realized she was holding her breath as she turned the corner and stepped into the room. He wasn't there. She exhaled loudly. There was no need to be relieved about such a thing, but Angela found that she was.

The man on the bed, Gabriel Reyes was beginning to stir. He was mumbling to himself as his eyes flicked from side to side. He slowly turned his head and looked right at her. They were haunted eyes. She felt overwhelming sadness looking into them. Eyes like that belonged to people who carried deep burdens. Many at Overwatch did. Many people had lost everyone they knew, and everyone they loved when the world had first descended into the current violence. The first chaotic week of the Omnic war had been the most devastating; people weren't expecting their AI to turn on them. Beyond relying on the things for essential support, the world had become comfortable using AI machines to do trivial jobs. Many people kept them as companions. Many, many people had died. Still others had lived, though. Because the God program did not hit everyone, everywhere at the same time…and the world was very connected. It was instant news. So people who weren't the first victims had had some warning, at least.

"Do you know where you are?" Doctor Angela Ziegler approached the patient's bedside without preamble, taking in his appearance methodically and clinically. He still had a cuff on, so she reached for the switch on the bedside monitor to begin taking his blood pressure. "You were shot, Mr. Reyes."

He tilted his head towards her, looking more fully awake than before, but said nothing intelligible. At this point, speaking to him was largely an exercise in thinking out loud. She may well have to repeat herself in another few minutes, or hours, depending on how much he retained. Some people recovered more quickly than others. Stifling an unprofessional sigh, she placed her stethoscope on the broad plains of his chest, to listen to his lungs. First, she placed it on the side without a gunshot wound, and then the wounded side of his body, lower down. Then she moved back to the unwounded side, and repeated the process. His lungs sounded clear enough. He'd avoided any major organ damage. The bullet had torn some of his generously proportioned muscle to mincemeat, however. He was probably in agony. It was probably made worse by the fact that he had continued to be active after getting shot. No, not probably. His stubbornness had definitely made it worse. Angela had lived on the base for some time now, and she had decided that soldiers were a stubborn bunch by nature. Probably more so than anyone else alive. Which, depressingly, was probably why so many of them lived.

Then, for some reason, out of nowhere, the patient reached up for her. It took her by surprise. She wondered, at first, if he was trying to pull himself up. There were easier ways to sit up, of course, but pain medication had a tendency to addle the mind. The bed would tilt up on its own if he used the remote. His formidable hand grazed her shoulder, and he seemed to be trying to say something, but it wouldn't come out. One of his hands was larger than both of hers. She leaned closer so that she could hear him, and gently put a hand on his chest to nudge him back down towards the bed.

But after that, nothing went the way she thought it was going to go.

He grabbed her suddenly, and ferociously. It happened so quickly, and fiercely, that her mind refused to accept what was happening at first. This must be an accident. Surely…surely the patient wasn't trying to hurt her?

But he was.

He began closing his grip around her windpipe with earnest intention. Angela was rendered immobile with shock. She knew in moments she would be truly incapacitated, and at the same time knew she had little hope of escaping him. Her tennis shoes squeaked against the buffed out hospital floors as he dragged her helplessly closer. In desperation, she did the only thing she could do. Breaking free of the numbness and fear, adrenaline took over. She reached down with one hand, and ripped out his blood pressure tubing, and then his IV from his wrist. Almost immediately alarms started chirping throughout the room. The nurses station would have been alerted. People would soon begin to flood inside the room to begin lifesaving procedures. But really, Angela thought, what would they be able to do? If he didn't crush her windpipe, or choke her to death, would the nurses be able to peel this giant of a man off of her in time? It was unlikely.

Her head felt cloudy. Her throat felt like it was on fire, struggling for air. The man looked utterly filled with hatred for her. Blackness began to encroach the corners of her vision. The bed creaked beneath their opposing efforts, though one side was clearly winning.

The bed.

Angela kicked frantically outwards, towards the parking brake on the bed. She managed to disengage the right side, sending it into the off position, and the bed surged forward awkwardly. Reyes almost lost his grip on her. Certainly if both sides had been unlocked, he would have. People began flooding into the room. Personnel, armed with carts and dressed in scrubs, not expecting to walk in upon a violent assault. One of the people was Clare, the nurse from before. Angela barely saw her…or anything, anymore. The blackness encroaching upon her vision was nearly complete. She felt…so tired. But Clare took in the situation with veteran calm, simply approached the bed, and disengaged the locks that kept It from collapsing. The bed fell to the ground. Angela's burning lungs sucked in their first full breath in over a minute. Drenched in sweat, tears, and disheveled, she sat upon the gleaming tiles while folks milled around her. Someone had called security.

The patient finally sat up, looking horrified. Angela scuttled backwards across the floor in quite possibly the most undignified escape from a captor to ever occur. She heard him swear, saw the fear and worry in his eyes, but as she clambered to her feet she found she was unable to meet those eyes. Twice, in one day, she was unable to look someone in the eye. Though for vastly different reasons, she wondered how much of a coward she was becoming after all.

In the ensuing chaos, she managed to slip out the door and down the hall. Nobody noticed her leave the building, or so she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

It had begun to snow. Angela quickly stepped outside through the unremarkable staff entrance doors in the rear of the medical complex without looking back. Never had she felt so…lost. Her mind and her heart were both bereft for what to think, to feel. Her throat burned, and it hurt to touch. No doubt she should get medical treatment, right away. But she didn't want to see anybody, and didn't want anybody to see her. So, she was glad it was snowing. People would be inside if they could be.

The barracks were a straight shot from the medical wing of the Watch Point. But people would come that along that way, and Angela was uncharacteristically in no mood for people. The long way, then. It was supposed to be a "recreational" area for soldiers and other personnel to unwind, but they rarely made use of it anymore. A natural pond with a walkway built around its circumference, and wilderness growing up all around made for her desired seclusion.

It was, in a lot of ways, therapeutic. The quiet of large flakes coming down, the stillness of the world, and the white blanket hiding everything manmade and ugly beneath its pristine cover. It all felt right, for the time being. The walkway had about 2 inches in accumulation already, but Angela had worn sensible shoes to work this morning as usual, so she crunched over the top of it with little effort. It probably did look somewhat odd that she frequently wore sneakers with a lab coat, but her feet were always thankful and her patients never complained. Her lab coat and thin, knee length dress was less suitable for the weather, but would do well enough for the length of the walk.

Angela was about halfway back to her room, the pond winding left of the barracks complex to avoid a thick patch of wilderness, when a lance of pain shot through her neck and chest on the right side. She hit the ground before she knew she was falling. It was colder than it looked. It was also more solid than it looked beneath the powder. It crunched beneath her as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her chest still burned, but the pain itself seemed to have been a one-shot. She feared her lung might collapse. Indeed, she should have taken a bed back at the hospital. But that was a road untraveled and not worth contemplating at this point. She was here, on this out of the way path, 5 minutes from her room if she could keep her feet. The path cutting through the woods towards the barracks wasn't much further, if she remembered correctly.

Gathering her strength to stand, Angela took no notice of the woman a few yards back, watching her. She took no notice that the woman smiled when she fell. She took no notice, at all. She climbed to her feet with all of her might instead, and focused on making it back to her room in the barracks, oblivious. 

The mood in the medical plaza was tense when Jack arrived. People were walking hurriedly, wherever they were going. Nobody smiled. He wondered what had happened. Usually if anything extraordinary happened, he knew about it in short order.

After being admitted through the visitor's entrance, he made his way towards the recovery wing where he would find his friend. Reyes had been shot and refused to get off his feet until he fell out. At least, it seemed, the orderlies had scrubbed the blood off the walls where the man had melted down them, smearing red all the way. That…was unsanitary. He shivered. Hospitals gave Jack the creeps. R&D had managed to manufacture portable nanite canisters which he almost always carried. They did a limited amount of healing, but enough to keep him out of this place as much as possible. Though something drew him back today. Reyes, of course. He was checking on Reyes. He retraced the steps Doctor Ziegler had taken on her way to the recovery wing hours before. She was…something. He thought, briefly, about the tiny shocks that went through him when he kept her from tripping over her own two feet in exhaustion. He thought about how she looked straight at him with eyes nearly as blue as glacial ice. _Stay away from that one_ , _Jack_. _She's too important, too good, and definitely too pretty for you._ He pushed his mind back to more mundane thoughts.

When he reached the recovery wing, the atmosphere became exceptionally bleak. A lone woman sat at the nurses' station, while others, male and female, scurried about their duties. A couple research scientists conferred with each other privately in a corner, which Jack thought odd. What were they doing here? Had there been an accident among their peers as well? What a rotten day. As he approached the Nurses station, the matronly woman behind the desk looked up. She didn't smile, but acknowledged him with a nod.

"I'm sorry, Sir, can I help you?" Her voice was laden with strain. Jack looked further down the hall towards the room where Reyes was interred.

"Did something happened?" His voice came out more authoritarian that he would have liked. Her eyebrows rose infinitesimally in response.

"You haven't heard? I thought everybody knew." She shrugged, a little self-satisfied it seemed, to be relaying pertinent information to someone of his position. He cleared his throat and shrugged, awaiting her response patiently though he felt anything but. "The patient in 108 assaulted one of the medical staff in a delusional fit."

"Delusion?" Jack contemplated the possibility behind the words, and then pressed for more details. Was Reyes sick?

"Sometimes, the drug cocktail combined with a lot of stressors…can have that effect. Especially if the patient already suffers from PTSD or some other underlying condition." The nurse nodded to herself, in satisfaction with her assessment of the situation. "For him, it's not that serious. He was awake. And his vitals were good, when he left. Though we've recommended that he should look into counselling."

Reyes had left the hospital? Already, and against medical advice? And he'd assaulted one of the staff? The amount of paperwork involved, even in theory, sent a chill down Jack's spine. Would Reyes' be disciplined harshly? It seemed like it was a side effect of the medical treatment, but perhaps he was having deeper issues that the command wasn't aware of yet. Well, where could he have gone, other than home? Jack could easily go check on him there. No problem.

"Reyes is okay though?"

The nurse snorted. "What's a woman her size going to do to a big lummox like that. Honestly." The nurse looked a little disgusted. A woman? So, he'd assaulted one of the female staff members. Jack felt the bile rising in his throat. There were plenty of women who worked in the hospital, so there was no guarantee that it was the doctor from before. Except…she was in charge of Reyes' care. And Jack had let her believe she better see to it, personally. If she had been hurt, wasn't it partially his fault?

The station phone was ringing off the hook, and the nurse looked busy.

"Excuse me? Ma'am? Can you tell me where to find Doctor Ziegler?"

The nurse's eyebrows climbed into the thin, blonde crown, and she pursed her lips. It was if she was contemplating how to speak to a child in words that child would understand. "Dear, Doctor Ziegler hasn't been seen since the patient assaulted her. We've looked, but no one knows where she is right now."

Jack suddenly felt very cold.

*************************************************************************************

Angela could see the barracks, which were very similar to a civilian apartment complex, through the thin copse of trees on her right. The path around the pond was finally ambling back toward the right. She'd gotten what she wanted, though. No one had crossed her path on the way back home. Which was good. She wasn't ready to face other people, though the walk was helping to ease her mind. A long soak, and a good night's sleep should have her back to herself.

The snow accumulation had reached about 4 inches on the sidewalk. Even her sensible sneakers were starting to soak though because of the encroaching dampness. Her feet didn't register much more than cold, however. She was much more concerned about the exertion on her lungs. She was tired, and she needed a break. Tiny stabbing pains were starting to become unbearable.

A lightly snow-dusted, concrete bench up ahead gave her the opportunity she needed to rest. A moment of quiet, but just a moment. Flakes of white performed a silent dance around the frozen-over pond. The silent activity was soothing. She brushed off the surface and sat down.

It was hard not to think about the events from earlier. The man, Reyes, was clearly still under the effects of medication. Perhaps he had PTSD. He certainly didn't seem to recognize her as a doctor. Her hand drifted upwards, to her neck. Likely, the bruise there was in full blossom. It'd be purple and red. She could hide it with a scarf as soon as she went back to work.

Back to work. Angela shivered. It didn't seem like something that should be difficult to do. But the idea of seeing patients right now chilled her more thoroughly than the weather could possibly. The idea of being assaulted had never crossed her mind until today. Sure, some patients were rude. Some didn't listen. Nobody had ever, ever tried to hurt her though.

She looked down at her hands. Her right hand was swollen where it had been crushed between the patient's menacing grip and her neck. Likely, that had been all that had saved her. That, and wearing sneakers. Had she been wearing the lovely heels she always dreamed of wearing but could never rationalize, she would have never been able to resist when he dragged her towards him. She flexed her hand carefully, and found that her pinky moved at an angle awkward, slightly depressed to the rest of her hand. It was painful. Such an injury…could end her surgical career. The longer she waited, the worse it would be. But she found oddly difficult to care.

It was hard to think about much that bothered her anymore. Angela felt calmness restored within her. The walk had definitely helped. She felt her center returning to her. Her lungs didn't burn as they had earlier. Everything felt okay. She barely noticed that she had laid down across the bench, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She barely noticed that she was tired. All she felt was warm.

A tiny alarm in the back of her mind screamed. She had to get up! She couldn't stay here, out in the snow! She was…freezing. Some part of her knew that she was freezing. But it didn't feel cold. It felt comforting, warm. Could it be so bad, to let things end this way? She would be able to see family and friends again. She would simply fall asleep. And then she wouldn't be alone anymore. It wasn't a depressing thought; she didn't suffer from that normally. Angela wasn't sad. She just…the world was a harsh place. And this wasn't, all things told, the worst way to go by far. There were far more brutal ways. But, her research…she had to finish it.

Ashamed at her brief, dark thoughts, she struggled to sit back up. But, nothing was working. Her limbs…didn't want to move. Oh, god. Was it too late? She knew she was soaked from lying in the snow. She wasn't dressed for the elements, and she'd been stationary for a dangerous amount of time. Oh, but she was so close to getting her staff to work. What a marvel it would be to heal men in the field from grievous injuries. She could shed a little light in the darkness…but…well, she couldn't seem to move her legs. She wasn't able to stop hot tears from falling. They didn't fall far, sticking to her face in a cold mask. She could lean up, but it was tiring, so she found herself lying back down on the bench. It wasn't cold. The looming end did seem lonelier than her actual solitude when she considered that she'd never finish the Caduceus. Maybe, someday, someone else would?

Angela heard loud, steady footfalls crunching through the snow nearby, but was unable to move her head. The footfalls were coming from around the copse of trees, on the path leading towards the barracks. Even if someone was there, they wouldn't be able to see her.

"Hello?" she croaked, but it was a whisper, barely audible even to her. No one would find her. She was going to die.

That was when the steady footsteps broke into a run.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack ground his teeth together as he stalked back down the hospitals bland corridor towards the exit. His jaw was set, his shoulders stiff, and nerves higher than he would like. Where was Reyes? Where was the young doctor whom he had laid his hands on after Jack had all but ordered her to care for the scoundrel personally? Ugh. This was just...frustrating.

Nearby, a worker leapt into the air as Jack casually punched sideways and left a fist sized crater in the drywall without even breaking stride. Frustrated by his lack of control over his subordinate lately, Jack barely registered the slip in his normally calm-under-pressure attitude. He never slowed his pace. As he left the medical complex and stepped out into the day he was shocked to find the weather had turned a little less seasonable. It had been cold already, but now a fine layer snow now dusted the pavement with copious amounts drifting down from a heavy, gray sky.

Where should he go from here? Should he find Reyes, or check on the Doctor? He would have to do both, eventually. His order of operations should include Reyes first, as a subordinate, even if he currently wanted to punch Reyes. People were looking for the doctor, after all. Likely her superiors needed to speak with her as much as he needed to find the insubordinate lousy... He stood in contemplation as people milled in and out of the medical facility. What the nurse had said had disturbed Jack. Nobody had seen the Doctor. On the other hand, Reyes would easily to find. Jack needed…

His health monitor briefly buzzed to let him know a call was incoming. It was a handy thing. Even though he had to wear it to monitor his vitals as a condition of the soldier enhancement program, it had all sorts of unrequired features he enjoyed on a daily basis.

He dipped his hand into the inside pocket of a thick, blue canvas military jacket and fished out his phone. The phone was a tidy thing, smaller than he was comfortable with, but wrapped in a seemingly indestructible rubber case with bulletproof glass. It all seemed a little excessive.

The display lit up with Gabriel Reyes, so Jack answered.

"What the hell, man?" Silence dominated for a moment.

"I don't know. I don't know what happened," came the strained reply, finally. How could he not know? "I saw her there…but then…she was gone. She was gone and the doctor was there. That's…all."

Her? He must be referring to _that_ time…the nightmare. The time when an entire team was decimated by a Talon plant. It was such an elaborate trap that HQ had bought it hook, line, and sinker. And the good men had paid the ultimate price…Gabe still carried those people with him every day. Reyes sounded downright beaten. Beaten by himself, beaten by the world.

"Where are you?" Jack had to restrain himself from shouting. He was a mix of angry and sad. Because he remembered that time very well, but he didn't understand how Reyes could mistake an innocent person for a devil. With effort, he schooled his voice to neutrality, and started down the path towards the barracks. He would make a house call. "Are you home?"

"Yes. …but…I need a favor." Reyes didn't usually ask for favors. Maybe he was still out of it.

"I've got enough on my plate, just about now. So do you, in fact." Jack knew he sounded annoyed, but what CO wouldn't? He had an injured man, one who was a friend. And that man had injured someone outside of his command, whom nobody could seem to find.

"Besides, a favor? Do you know how much paperwork I'm going to have to fill out now because of you? First, you get shot. Then, you take it upon yourself to bleed…BLEED…all over the hospital…and on top of that…" The other end of the line was silent. Jack was yelling again. At least he wasn't standing in front of the hospital this time. He'd probably stalked all the way across the facility grounds, towards the group of buildings where everyone lived stood eerily quiet in the falling snow. It was really beginning to come down by the time he reached the barracks. Almost an entire inch had fallen since he left the Hospital.

Reyes' voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I need you to check on that Doctor for me. I can't do it myself. Even if I could run around, I don't think I could face her. Supposedly, she lives on the fifth floor in 511, I found out that much…but…heh" Pride was such a messy thing.

Jack had reached the barracks. This was an unusually earnest request from his friend, and things had been strained between them lately. Plus, he was genuinely curious as well. "Sure, I'll go check. I have to anyway, officially," he agreed, and headed on his way.

They spoke for a while longer about Reyes reporting in for duty, and punishment, and paperwork, and a myriad of other things not related to work. By the time they hung up, Jack had reached the fifth floor via the stairs. He supposed he could have taken the elevator, but he didn't trust them if he didn't have to. He padded down the hall to 511, knocked, and waited. When no answer came, he knocked again. Well, maybe she wasn't home after all. People were looking for her, so surely they'd have checked at home first. Jack sighed, feeling worried about how things were going to turn out after such an incident, and turned back towards the stairs.

*************************************************************************************

Lena Oxford was worried about her friend. It was two hours past when they were supposed to meet up. She checked her leather banded antique wristwatch for what had to be the hundredth time. After Lena had teased her, Angela had basically run out of the hospital room earlier in the day…and well, that wasn't normal behavior for Ang. She was a few years older than Lena, and Lena looked up to her. Normally she would have come back with a beyond-her-years matronly rebuke to Lena's childish antagonisms. So it all seemed…a bit odd. They were both considered anomalies among their cohorts. Angela was a peerless surgeon and bright researcher. And Lena was a swift, cunning pilot. Though some mocked her for being little more than a child, she had earned more than enough respect among the men she flew with. Both being talented women, they had immediately bonded despite their age gap. So, where was Ang?

Lena stared out from her apartment towards the medical complex. It wasn't that far to walk, but it was beginning to snow hard. Lena could certainly jog there in no time at all, either way. She was seriously considering it when she saw someone she did not expect stalking towards the barracks. He stopped momentarily and threw his hand in the air. It was a man in fatigues, boots, service cap, more muscular than anyone should be. Oh, it was Jack. What was he doing, out this way? He had a small, private residence, like many who were officer rank, and rarely ventured to the barracks unless someone had royally screwed up. He looked like he was yelling into his phone, and didn't notice Lena watching him from her balcony.

Well, she could make him notice!

"Hello!" She yelled, hanging half over the balcony and waving down to him. He paused, looked up, and nodded up to her before immediately returning to the call. Huh. What was going on with people today? They were pretty good friends, so he must be really busy. Taking the shutdown in good stride, she picked up the phone to call Angela a few more times.  
*************************************************************************************

Jack exited the glorified apartment complex at a brisk pace. He was neither hurried, nor taking his time. He did have a job to do, but slipping and falling was not on his agenda. So, rather than stalking back the way he had come across the parking lot, he tempered his long stride into something more measured and patient. He walked to the end of the small sidewalk that exited into what used to be a civilian parking lot. Now, it was largely empty with the exception of a few military vehicles. None were requisitioned for personal use. The grounds were largely traversed on foot, no matter what your rank was. He was about to head back towards the hospital when something caught his attention that he didn't notice earlier when he was on the phone with Reyes. There were footsteps in the snow leading towards the old scenic bypass. Well, that was interesting. More interesting was the size of them. Small enough to be a woman's, that was for sure. They seemed to be some sort of heeled shoe, as well. Huh. Who would wear such a thing, out in the snow?

With nothing better to do, he decided to take a detour, to the path around the lake. It would take him in the same direction, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. The very idea of someone walking around out here in dress shoes made no sense, anyway. There were few enough women on the base, even in the civilian areas, but even fewer people wore clothing that was impractical these days. Everyone among the resistance was, at the very least, prepared to flee or fight for their lives. Things had changed since the beginning of the crisis. He thought of Doctor Ziegler and her funny looking sneakers, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. She was a lovely woman appearing woman, but seemed to be practical. It was not likely that she had wandered onto the path along the pond, but someone had. He would go ahead and check. The extra few minutes would give him time to order his thoughts. There was going to be a lot of paperwork and ass-chewing in the coming few days.

Trees rose up on either side of the snow covered sidewalk that diverted away from the main thoroughfare back to the hospital. The footprints kept going, so he followed along as well. Eventually the small patch of woods ended, and the path teed off to a footpath that wound around the only recreational body of water Jack had seen in years. It was seldom used, even in the warm months. Though some soldiers did jog around the pond itself for cardio. People were afraid to let their guards down, anymore. The footsteps moved off to the right, further from "civilization", as little Lena might call it, and he turned to head in that direction. But something stopped him in his tracks. He had exceptional hearing as a result of the enhancement program, and he knew he heard something. It was faint, but it got his attention nonetheless. There was…a musical sound on his left. It was a someone's phone. He turned, but didn't see anything immediately. It took a few steps down the path to see the little bench sunk back into a tiny stand of trees. But what he saw immediately sent him into action. There was a person curled into a ball on a small, concrete bench. It was her. This time, Jack did hurry.

…To be continued! 

Authors Note: My intention here, with this relationship, and the other relationships and friendships is to build and flesh them out over a number of chapters. There won't be any "insta love" you see elsewhere here. Though, instant attraction, and numerous instances of head butting…is another story.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Waves of Red

Gabriel Reyes closed his phone, and set it down on the side table next to the bed he was currently occupying. He'd left the hospital earlier in the day, and didn't want to be nagged too much. So naturally, he didn't go home. He knew he had to call Morrison, at least. It was...irritating That conversation had gone about as well as Reyes figured it was going to. A lot of sanctimony, yelling, and guilt tripping from the golden boy.

Still, the nightmare had gotten to him earlier. He had done something wrong. He had hurt someone who had simply been trying to help him get better. That was, perhaps, the most irritating thing of all.

He sat for a few minutes in quiet contemplation, staring out the window of the second floor barracks room. What to do now? He didn't have work until tomorrow morning, and even that was going to be a lot of bitching unpleasantness. He really didn't want to think about it. So he thought about her. Not his girlfriend, whose bed he currently occupied, but the doctor whose face had filled his vision as soon as he had regained consciousness. Blond, somewhat petite, with glacially cold eyes. She was pale to the point of too pale, in his opinion. Not his type at all. But he owed her…something. More than an apology, since he'd almost killed her and she had definitely saved him. He'd figure something out later…he had to.

Keys rattled in the door, snapping him out of his reverie. Ah, she was back. His more or less steady girl, Kerrigan, slipped silently into the room. He was curled up on the bed, and made no move to alert her to his wakefulness. She tiptoed to the kitchen, and went for the fridge to complete her daily ritual-drinking milk straight from the carton when nobody was looking. Reyes wasn't sure what was so embarrassing about the habit. She lived alone, after all. Nobody else drank the milk. But he made an effort not to call attention to it anyway, out of respect, since she went so far to hide it.

She went to shower, and he rolled over to face the bathroom door. He thought about getting up to join her, but didn't want to scare her, either. After all, she thought he was asleep. The last time he tried to slip in the shower with her, it didn't end well for him. The knot she had left on the side of his head had been visible for a couple days after that. So much for being a lethal killer. So he exhaled and waited, patiently.

He took her in from head to toe when she emerged from the shower a few minutes later. This time he made no effort to pretend to be asleep. She saw him watching and flashed a secretive smile. Towel-dried scarlet waves fell to the small of her back. She had hazel eyes, light olive skin, full lips, and hips that could subdue the most virtuous of souls... Above all, she was the most beautiful creature Gabriel Reyes ever laid eyes on. They had actually gone to high school together back when L.A. was still L.A...and he felt even more attached to her because of that connection. He knew of no one else he could trust.

"How did it go?" Kerrigan displayed few outward emotions, but she always seemed to worry about him. She always wanted to know how things went. She was the closest person to him. The only person he really trusted, anymore.

"Oh, you know, the usual, except someone decided to shoot me today. He let the covers drop, exposing his chest and bandages covering one quarter of it. Bandages that doctor had applied. "

His display got Kerri's full attention, though, and she hurried over to him. She took her time examining the bandaged area on his chest, frowning.

"And you're already out of the hospital? The doctors here must be miracle workers." Her tone seemed wry to him, but he shrugged it off. She looked into his eyes, with her hands still on his chest. He felt the ever present heat rise up within him.

"So I'm told," was all he said, rather more gruffly than he would have liked, before she crawled into bed without putting any new clothes on. She didn't really need to know about the incident earlier today. He didn't tell her everything, and he was certain she had her secrets as well. But there were more than a few things they did share. Companionship, however, was something they did share. He was more than happy to provide. So long as he could continue to hold his temper in check. So long as he continued to understand the nightmares were not real, and that the woman following him around did not actually exist. So long as he kept his tenuous grasp on reality…things would be okay.

"People were insufferable today. I managed to get good coffee for downstairs, and even tea, but someone managed to complain about even that. Can you imagine someone was upset that I didn't pick up decaf? Decaf coffee! As if the world wasn't in the middle of a devastating war, and coffee wasn't rare... oh, miss apartment manager, how dare you not bring me decaf? Gah...just drink something normally decaffeinated and spare the world..."

Reyes reached over and smacked her lightly with a pillow. He supposed mundane problems like annoying people were just as difficult as his, in a certain light. He would be suffocated by the boredom of them, but somehow they seemed far more interesting coming from Kerrigan. Perhaps it was her wild femininity, her animation, her wry wit. He wasn't sure. She was probably the only good thing he had left going for him. Despite his injury, he rolled over to face her.

She smiled instantly, knowing. "You're hurt."

"So?" he didn't bother to mask the gruffness in his voice as he rolled over on top of her. "If I'm ever that hurt, you can just go ahead and kill me."

"Ah…"

There wasn't much talking after that.

Jack ran.

He ran like a man on a mission. His plowed through the snow with little resistance, and reached his goal in no time at all. There was a young blonde woman curled up on an old concrete bench set into a recession on the path. Doctor Ziegler. In one hand, she clutched a cell phone, as if it were a lifeline. She was shivering. What exactly happened to her? She was so close to the barracks she could practically spit on them. Instead, here she was, lying out in the snow, freezing cold, holding a phone like it was going to save her from something.

"Dr. Ziegler, can you hear me?" Her face didn't move, but her eyes tilted towards him, and blinked a few times. It was a languid movement, and she even seemed to smile, before drifting off somewhere else. He grimaced when he realized why she hadn't turned her head. It was…stuck there. She mumbled a few words that were not for his ears, but could be sensible in context, he supposed Jack estimated that the doctor was definitely approaching hypothermia If she didn't already have it. He needed to get her out of the cold. Faced with the dueling needs of delicacy and haste, he compromised the best he could. He gently removed her face from the concrete bench where it had partially adhered to the surface. Then, he simply picked her up without any additional finesse. She groaned as he did so, and Jack couldn't help but wince. He knew there'd be some skin left on that bench. But it was better than nothing. Thankfully, most of her skin that was otherwise exposed was covered by long, white lab coat. And a little discomfort was certainly better than freezing. He turned, with her cradled in his arms like a child, and jogged back down the path towards the barracks as fast as he safely could.

On the way, he was plagued with thoughts. As a talented doctor, she was likely smart enough not to let herself freeze to death like this, even avoiding people. The entire situation seemed off. Jack scrutinized his surroundings over again, suddenly more aware of them than he had originally deemed necessary. Was he mistaken in thinking the base safe for the people living on it? No one else seemed to be around. Except for the suspicious footprints he found earlier, there was no sign of anyone else out in this weather. Could there be a saboteur? His thoughts were trekking somewhere darker than he had time for. This was Doctor Angela Ziegler, after all. Her research and skills were invaluable. To lose her…ah. It would be a blow Overwatch, and humanity. There had been many such blows lately, and Jack hoped to minimize them in the future. He shook his head. He could think about it after she was stabilized, when he could ask her a few questions.

Jack made good time getting back to her building. She was quite light to him, and he suspected that would still be the case even without the enhanced strength that the SoldierX program gave him. He made for her apartment on the fifth floor, this time taking the elevator. The thing seemed agonizingly slow, and it was definitely smaller than Jack was comfortable with. By the time they'd made it to her door, he noticed she was falling asleep. Jack felt like now would be the perfect time to panic, if he were prone to such things.

"Dr. Ziegler, Dr. Ziegler, can you hear me? DR. ZIEGLER?" His voice was forceful; harsh. He jostled her a little bit to see if she would respond. Her head lolled to the side and rested against his chest. He cheeks were pink. He'd lost men in battle before. He'd watched them die. He'd never held a woman while she died. Or anyone outside of a warzone, for that matter. He didn't want to start now.

"Not right now" she muttered, without opening her eyes. "I have patients. Not right now. No. I can't come to the lab. Yes." Though it didn't make sense, relief flooded through him. She didn't appear to be getting any worse, and they were out of the elements. He could help get her out of the danger zone with the very tech she had invented. Once again, he was awarded for his diligence in always carrying a med kid. He gave himself a mental nod of satisfaction.

"Excuse me, Dr." He muttered, trying not to be embarrassed while exploring her coat pocket. Of course, if he was embarrassed by that, he knew he would really have a hard time in a few minutes. Those wet clothes could not stay on her. He fished out a keycard, and snorted. They all looked alike. Handy, dandy, cheap government worker accoutrements.

Still cradling the stricken Doctor in his arms, Jack pushed the door open and went into her room, kicking it closed with his foot behind them.

Angela felt like she was floating. She knew that was not so. Her entire body was numb, and it wasn't just from the cold. Was she afraid? She knew she was trembling. She had heard footsteps running towards her, but couldn't seem to lift her head. Was there someone there?

There was. Someone spoke to her. It was a vaguely familiar, male voice. Oh, thank goodness. Someone had happened by and found her. It was laughable that a couple hours ago, being found was the last thing she wanted. Now, the relief that flooded through her was like having a second life. She heard him…and struggled to look up at him. Angela felt like she was swimming through a particularly thick batch of molasses. She tried to talk to him, but found her voice wasn't working the way she wanted to. Plus, there was the lab. Winston could wait. The Caduceus could wait. Why was the lab here? Couldn't they call her instead of bringing the entire office outside? _She. Had. Patients._

Angela was shivering uncontrollably, and she knew it. The odds were against the entire lab being set up here, across from the pond as well. She had started feeling heavy some time ago, and not had much control of her body. He thoughts, before they became muddled, understood there was more going on than exposure. Was she sick? She didn't think so, but couldn't remember. Had she eaten something funny? Was it shock from earlier? If she made it home, she'd have to get a blood test to make sure everything was okay. Normal people didn't get so fatigued out of nowhere. She needed her neck looked at, too. Ah…. that. She was desperately trying not to think about that. She knew the man was still there, he seemed to be talking to her, but she wasn't quite sure what he was saying.

Briefly, her cheek burned out of nowhere, and her legs hurt abominably. She groaned, because it hurt, but felt considerably less cold afterward. She was floating up now. No, being lifted up. By someone blessedly warm. She thought, perhaps, she'd never known true warmth until this moment. Someone was carrying her. She couldn't tell who it was. Whoever it was though, they had a broad chest, and absurdly muscular arms. She felt very small, but also very comfortable. Like she belonged. The world rushed by around her. She felt safe, though. Nothing bad could happen to her now. Angela resisted the urge to sleep.

She closed her eyes and let her head rest on her mystery man's chest. He seemed to be running. Where was he going? Blue…. he was wearing a blue jacket. An officer, then. What was an officer doing out in the middle of nowhere? Perhaps those people were looking for her? She wasn't anyone important to them though, so it seemed odd.

"Dr. Ziegler…can…" Was he talking to her? Her thoughts swam. She tried to look up. The world tilted awkwardly, but her head finally obeyed. When she saw who was holding her, heat flooded into her limbs. It was Commander Morrison. That handsome, scary stranger. Well, she'd have to add extremely warm to the list of things she thought about him. Because he was quite warm. Or maybe she was starting to warm up thanks to his body heat. Embarrassingly, he was staring right at her. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were hard. His golden blonde hair was soaking wet, and matted to his face. Was he angry with her? Certainly it didn't hurt him if she accidentally froze to death. What was his issue? Angela got the impression that Mr. Morrison wanted everyone to be just as golden as he was. She let her head roll back. It wasn't worth thinking about, too much. It's not like they knew each other, or owed each other anything.

Well, that wasn't true. She did owe him. She would be out in the cold if it wasn't for him. In truth, she probably owed him her continued existence.

Somehow, strangely enough, he knew where she lived. Had he been there first? Odd. First, they rode the elevator up. Then, he walked straight down the hall to the proper door the first time. He unlocked the door, which was strange. She didn't remember giving him the key. Angela suspected he wouldn't need it if he really wanted in the room. He did all of it without seeming burdened by carrying her, and strode inside. As the door shut, she closed her eyes and let the darkness and safety swallow her whole.


	8. Chapter 8

Ana Amari was concerned. She knew it was about more than her phone call with Jack. Things were getting lax, and had been for a long time. People were becoming less afraid. Life was becoming routine again. Everyone wanted and needed that routine and stability, but it was just an illusion. Even here on the base. People had categorized themselves into rank, order, division, department, civilian…military…and so on. They worked tirelessly to recreate the humanity that had crumbled so easily in the face of a unified threat. And so, now there was a breach. Of course there was. Their little orderly ship was taking on water. It really wasn't a question of "if", but rather "where" and "how much," at this point.

The room she occupied undecorated, originally requisitioned as a works area on the vacant third floor of an old office building. It was furnished only with a desk, and a chair, but was otherwise empty. Ana sat in contemplation, staring out the window through steepled hands. Nothing important was kept above ground level, so it was a good place to seek out privacy. In these times, it was simply too labor intensive to keep operations running across multiple floors of a high-rise. Ana also thought it was best to keep divisions close together, within walking distance. They made heavy use of short-wave radios, so it was helpful to be close.

Everything mission related was compiled on paper. They'd learned that lesson early on. So, there was another reason to keep people within walking distance. Phones were the only luxury they had, and even they were locked down. They were encrypted SAT phones, on the UN's dime. They were without a doubt compromised. Ana snorted and looked down at the unregistered, contraband phone she had used to contact her superior. She had dozens of them, and so did he.

Beside the phone, a steaming mug rested on the desk. She picked it up, and immediately put it back down again. Inside, freshly poured coffee beckoned, but it was too hot to drink. Not like it was any good. It was just cheap, stale, overpriced instant brew. But even that was a luxury these days. She picked the cup up again. Ana knew she had a bad habit of doing that when she was mulling over a particular problem. Pick the cup up; put the cup down. It had a nice aroma for sludge water. It wasn't good to have observable habits, though. Ah, well there wasn't anyone observing, now was there?

Her thoughts turned back to the conversation she'd had with Jack, and its implications. It would be best to head downstairs and retrace the doctors steps to confirm the commander's suspicions. From the administrative offices, it wasn't that far. Six or seven minutes would get her to the hospital, and the path where the alleged assassination attempt had occurred was just beyond that.

So far as anyone else knew, young Angela Ziegler was resting at home after a hard day with a rough patient. Let it stay that way, for now. Ana rapped her fingers on the surface of the plain, cheap particle board desk. The rhythmic, audible clicking of her short nails also helped her think. She knew full well why someone would logically want to kill promising young members of Overwatch, especially talented healers and scientists who might change the tide of current events. What she didn't understand was the timing. To be fair, she had been lax too. She never thought to assign security to invaluable persons residing on base, since there was already security. There was a silver lining, however. The bad guys had made the first move, and gained nothing.

Even though it was just luck.

The first thing Ana had done after she had gotten off the phone with the Jack was see to it that all her personnel were accounted for. Jack had contacted a trusted person in medical. It seemed that for the immediate time being, no one was out of place. This was, she decided, a targeted attempt of opportunity.

According to Jack, he'd brought the doctor in from the cold. He thought, at first, that she had hypothermia. But now, he didn't think she'd been out in the weather as long as that. Definitely exposure, but nothing more. It had been just on the cusp of freezing at the time of the incident. The flakes were fat and fell fast, which did not help. No, Jack said the doctor seemed to have been on a drug, and that he'd found suspicious footprints in the area around the same time. Someone had attempted to kill Angela Ziegler, and make it look like she'd accidentally frozen to death. Ana picked her cup up again.

But why now?

The sun was getting low in the sky; it was time to get moving. People would be heading home, or heading in for their shift. She'd be just another face in the crowd.

Forgetting her coffee on the table, Ana left the room. She took the stairs by twos, determined to confirm or expel the theories swimming around in her brain before devoting too much mental energy to them. After all, the incident might turn out to be completely explainable by other means. The commander was young, and perhaps given to a little paranoia. He had seen a lot for his age. He wasn't much younger than her, but Ana felt she was far more erudite in some ways. Jack was probably right, though. This was shady from most angles.

The vivid blue officers' uniforms were quite flashy for subterfuge, so instead of heading towards the alleged scene of the crime, she turned headed towards officer housing. It would only take a few minutes. Neat rows of tiny triplexes took up the southern edge of the base. Some officers chose to live in the little houses for privacy. Others lived in the Barracks. Many were never home to take advantage of the private quarters, either way.

She stepped inside her own Spartan dwelling. It was dark, and cold. She always kept the curtains drawn, and being gone all day, there was no sense in running the generator. It was about 500 sq. feet, neatly laid out, with shelving and closet space that more than made up for its size if she had needed it. In different times, it wouldn't have been bad for a single person, Ana supposed.

It took about five minutes to get changed into khaki pants, a black shirt, and a pale green service trench coat. There was no reason to seem obviously rushed, but things needed to be taken care of before they got out of hand. Already, it was possible intelligence was far behind the enemy. She didn't think much of their focus was directed inwards. Apparently, it needed to be.

Her working uniform was considerably less flashy than her officers garb. It was still official attire, but it didn't denote her rank as obviously. She didn't have to wear the blue all the time, she just liked it. It would be easier to get around this way, though. She wrestled her long, dark hair into a no-nonsense bun before replacing her beret, and headed out the door.

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Jack had never been the kind of man to doubt himself. He was...always sure. Anything he did, he did because he thought it was the right thing to do. He figured the world had plenty of uncertainty; if he was going to make even a dent of change to the way things had become, he had to be strong, stalwart. It came naturally, and it felt good. His subordinates, and his subordinates' subordinates, operated like a well-oiled machine. So the feelings and questions swirling in his mind about the things he knew, or rather...the things he thought he knew, were foreign and uncomfortable.

He clutched a burner phone in his left hand until it cracked beneath the stress.

Jack sat in a red, overstuffed armchair, in the corner of a Dr. Ziegler's apartment seemingly designated as the "den", with his head in his hands and elbows on his knees. His legs stretched out before him, taking up most of the little nook. For a doctor, she didn't seem to do much with her generous salary. She could probably have a room with a bedroom, at least. Maybe even a private residence. She could definitely have a room on a lower floor. Instead, she had a studio with a kitchenette on the topmost floor of the barracks. Jack could already see orders coming down for all sensitive personnel such as her to move to more secure locations, if he was right about what he saw. He rubbed his temples.

What sort of interest could persuade a person to betray humanity and work for the enemy? What could compel a person to side with a group that had, to date, murdered millions indiscriminately? Men, women, children. It didn't matter. The machines just killed, without ceremony, and without remorse. It defied every bit of conventional wisdom he had grown up with. Some people were motivated by dark, dark things. He looked at the women on the other side of the room. Dr. Ziegler was awake, but she had yet to gain any strength back in her legs. At first, it had been her entire body. So, all things considered, the situation was improving. She chatted quietly with Lena, and didn't look in his direction. Perhaps on purpose.

In a stroke of pure, glorious happenstance, Lena had arrived a few moments after he'd carried her in the door. It was a good coincidence, because Dr. Ziegler's clothes were soaked through. The golden glow of a spent health canister still suffused the room. The little nanites had done their thing. The bruises on the doctor's neck were still ugly, but they wouldn't hurt her as bad anymore. He probably didn't even need to use the canister, if he was being honest with himself. They were for field emergencies, things like knitting burst veins shut. But, he couldn't help himself. Maybe he was a sucker for the doctor, just a little. Lena didn't criticize him for it. The next time Jack saw Gabriel, he was going to break his jaw on principle though.

"You probably could have done this, you know." Lena had said at least ten times. Though she never hesitated getting her friend out of her lab coat and dress. Afterwards, she shoved the clothes at him unceremoniously. "Here…go throw these in the laundry. Do something useful." She was teasing, which meant he was probably scowling.

He had simply shrugged and turned to look for her washroom. "Seemed rude."

"Ah." Lena didn't delve into his innermost feelings about the issue. She was clever and insightful for her age. When it was time to let a subject drop, she always did. Jack had a lot of respect for that. He just didn't want to see any kids get hurt. Any more kids. He'd seen plenty killed at this point. He shook his head to banish the thought. He'd gotten there on time, nothing had happened this time. And without a doubt, if Lena hadn't made an appearance, Jack would have been the one removing wet clothes. He said silent thanks for a bullet dodged, and moved on.

He spotted a small nook with a stackable washer/dryer and headed for it. He tossed the dress in, then the coat. Something clinked upon the ceramic as he tossed the coat in. Maybe a name badge? He pulled it back out, and saw that indeed there were credentials affixed to the front of it. He needed to remove those, he reckoned.

That was when he had seen the small tear in the back of her coat. It was just the size of a pin-prick, with an infinitesimally small trickle of blood. In fact, he wouldn't have noticed it, if not for the stark contrast of dried blood on a white coat. He looked at the doctor, looked back at her coat, and thought once more about things. After she had woken up she'd still been unable to get out of bed. Jack began to retrace his dark thoughts from before. Someone had tried to kill Dr. Ziegler. But who?

*************************************************************************************

The trail was quite easy to find, and shorter than expected. Ana followed it as she believed the doctor had taken it earlier. She departed from the hospital by way of the back dock, where the staff generally entered and exited the building. From there, the sidewalk curved off into a T-section. One direction lead towards the main thoroughfare between the hospital and the residences not far away. The other lead slightly to the right, towards a pond. A small stretch of woods grew up in between the second pathway and the road, thicker in some places than others, where the pond didn't run exactly parallel to the road. Still, it was nearly a straight shot back to the barracks. It added maybe ten minutes to the walk simply because it was more circuitous. It definitely wasn't an isolated avenue. Still, that was ten minutes nobody would really want to waste on a regular basis, especially not on a cold day. It was not unimaginable that the path was uninhabited most of the time.

Low hanging branches and overgrown foliage testified to Ana's theory. It wasn't a well-kept area. The path itself seemed to be shrinking in some places, as the woods began to encroach upon the sidewalk. Everything was covered in a thick 4-inch powder that had fallen earlier in the afternoon. Above, the sky had taken on a heavy appearance. It would snow again tonight. Best to conclude her investigation before the environment underwent even more change.

Two sets of footprints were distinctly visible leading away from the hospital. According to Jack, one set would be tennis shoes—the doctor. He had also mentioned a suspicious track of footprints leading away from the barracks on the north end of the pond. Maybe it was the same person? These second pair of footprints were clearly a dress heal of some sort. Ana had never spent much time wearing anything dainty, but she could at least tell them apart from the standard issue boots all of the soldiers wore, and tennis shoes. At a point further down the path, the sneakers seemed to stumble. There was a large impression where the doctor might have fallen to their knees. Ana bit her lip. The heeled footprints disappeared at this point, but the sneakers carried on down the path. The doctors' gait had also changed, it seemed a bit lackadaisical. That was interesting.

A glint caught her eye. Down in the snow, just on the edge of the woods, was a tiny, metallic object. Ana crouched down, her greenish longcoat dipping down into the snow as she did so. Carefully, she picked up the cylindrical object. It was shiny, the color of silver, and roughly the size of a large coin. It had a needle sharp dart on one end. Well, that was even more interesting. She took out her officially issued phone and snapped photographs of everything she saw. She removed her handkerchief and carefully wrapped the little dart up before tucking it into the satchel she always carried over one shoulder. Further down the path stood the bench where the doctor had been found. She could tell Jack had been there, he wasn't exactly light footed.

Here the path had another T-intersection. One path lead to the barracks, which were maybe 25 meters away, and the other continued around the pond. The heeled footprints Jack spoke of were clearly visible, leading away from the barracks and the bench. Should she investigate? She walked to the end of the path, looking up at the barracks. The footprints had only lead away, there was no return set.

Either way, there was more than enough evidence to suggest a breach, and attempted murder. Jack needed to know, but so did central. Of course, there was always the possibility that the breach was in central, and they would be letting the culprit knew they were investigating. Ugh. Why couldn't children just behave?

Ana was about to turn back towards the pond and continue walking, when an explosion shook the earth. Her insides quivered with familiar fear. Was it an attack? Of course it was an attack. How big? Who would live, and who would die this time? As alarms began ringing out, Ana started running towards where she thought the explosion might have come from.


	9. Chapter 9

Torbjörn Lindholm's beard was probably on fire. He could smell the burning hair, but there wasn't much he could do about it, buried under gods knew how many feet of concrete with his arms stuck in the lock position of his mechanical creation. Lucky for him, he'd been working within its interior at the time of the explosion. His latest creation, the "Mechaman" unit, lacked the Achilles heel of its predecessors—internet connectivity. Each unit was a closed environment. The only way to get "inside" the head of one of his Mechamen was to literally get inside unit itself. He was proud of his creation. Each had a unique key that was difficult to replicate. It reminded him of cars in the olden days, before drive-by-wire and AI integration vehicles. He could never figure out why people thought that would be a good idea, in the long run. Moral decisions should never be outsourced. Plus, getting under the hood of a machine…there was nothing better. He loved them, from simple to complex. Even the ones with artificial intelligence. He just didn't trust those, anymore.

So, for a while, he hung upside down, stuck within the crushed remains of the exoskeleton, awaiting rescue. He was hopeful. Since the explosion, he hadn't heard any subsequent ones. However, he was in serious danger of passing out from smoke inhalation. Worse, his beard was in danger. He was starting to lose track of time. He wondered idly how far down he was buried.

It seemed like hours passed before the tell-tale signs of excavation reached his ears. He heard the rumble, and shifting of detritus above his head. Or was it below? He mused silently on the effects of being held upside down for a length of time on the brain. At least his beard had gone out, for the smell no longer permeated his little hole in the rubble. Truth be told, this wasn't his first explosion. Just the first one he didn't cause himself. His arms were stuck in the engage position within the Mechaman's arm, which had left him in quite the pickle. He might have been able to do something to help dig himself out otherwise.

Eventually, daylight reached him. Well, flashlight reached him. It was most certainly after nightfall by now. He'd been performing some of the fine tuning on this unit's wiring when his entire shop blew sky-high. And he had his doubts that it was something benign like a gas leak. In the back of his mind, he prepared himself to kill or be killed when the rubble finished clearing. It was quite possible those who were digging him out were not interested in his long-term good health.

But that, at least, turned out to be a false alarm. Those digging him out were indeed part of the organization for which he worked.

"Ah, it's about time," Torbjörn coughed, even as the machine was righted, and the hatch opened. He got the thing activated, and disengaged from the arms before deactivating it once again, and sat back in the pilot's chair. "What the hell happened?" he scanned the area around him, and with a sickening feeling, realized that he was likely the only survivor of the blast. "What about everyone else?" There were several guys who worked alongside him in the shop, more than a handful of them were extremely talented young engineers. Most of them had been at work, getting ready to go home for the day when the explosion occurred.

The look on his face must have been severe, for it seemed nobody had the heart to answer that question. At least, not until she stepped into the light. Ana Amari looked him right in the eye, their gazes level since he was still in the cockpit of his Mech. She looked worse for the wear, her eyes showing a great deal of strain around the corners. She wore a dismal work uniform instead of her officer's colors. "Dead. All dead. You're the only one left alive in the entire building."

Dead!

He decided he didn't like her. He'd been on the fence for a while. But anyone who could deliver that kind of news with that kind of deadpan expression was …beyond his capability to understand. "How did it happen?" He felt frantic, frustrated, the pain of loss was palpable within the room.

Ana's eyes met his. "Overwatch has been infiltrated, Lindholm. You're the sixth person they've tried to kill in the last several hours." She still had that revolting look on her face. But he thought, maybe, somewhere there was a glint of regret in her hard eyes.

Torbjörn's skin began to crawl. "And who else?! Has anyone been caught, do ya have any suspects? How are they getting away with it? Aren't you people supposed to take care of it, you soldier types? He felt contemptuous. He was keeping up his end of the bargain on this little military annex. He was making weapons that could help win the war. The soldiers were supposed to do the fighting. But it seemed like his days of relying on them to do their job were over. He was the only survivor, and the next time…he'd probably be killed if he wasn't prepared.

Rage, fear, incredulity, loss. They were too familiar. The past few months had acted like a band aid. The wounds had begun to heal. The war had begun to seem…outside of his life. Now, people he worked with and liked were dead. People he knew were dead. And he had narrowly survived, yet again. He was disgusted. He was disgusted with himself for surviving, again. And he was disgusted that the soldiers failed in their duty.

"Lindholm."

"What, what is it?" If he sounded gruff, and unapproachable, he didn't really care at the moment.

Ana Amari stared at him with those hard, unreadable eyes. "Don't go anywhere alone."

Well, that was a fine piece of advice since he didn't know who he could trust.

Angela Ziegler sat up in her bed, still feeling detached from the day's events. It had been several hours since Commander Morrison had brought her home. She was getting the feeling back in her legs, but they were still somewhat gelatinous. Thankfully, Lena had helped her into some pajamas before going to back downstairs, to "grab a few things" she'd said. So Angela could at least sit up without exposing herself.

She sat on the edge of the bed, with her feet hanging over the side. The Commander sat quietly talking on his SAT phone in the corner of the room. Even after the explosions began, he didn't leave. She thought at first that he would run from the room. But, he'd simply gone over to look out her window, which provided an excellent view of the grounds, and started making phone calls. The building had rumbled several times, and Angela felt fear growing within her for the first time in several months. The truth settled in, a cold hard ball in her belly. Nowhere was safe. She'd never be safe again.

It was time to get out of bed though. She'd reached the post-embarrassment phase of her current situation. It couldn't possibly be any more awkward. The fact that Commander Morrison still sat ten feet away from her after somehow finding her drugged and underdressed sleeping on a park bench was mortifying. In some ways, it might have been better if he hadn't found her. Thinking about being carried by him that way made her blush. They barely knew each other.

He seemed to have a streak of chivalry, which Angela didn't mind. But of course he did, though. Jack Morrison was known as "the golden boy," a real life version of one of the old comic superheroes. It started out as a joke, but seemed to stick. She snuck a glance at him, and found he was staring at her intently. Averting her eyes to the edge of the bed, she pretended not to notice.

She flexed her leg muscles a few times, and rotated her ankles. Everything seemed to be in working order, performing as intended. That was good. One could not lie around in bed all day, with the world exploding all over again. As likely as not, there were injured people who needed her help down there. So it came as a letdown when she stood to walk, and her knees buckled beneath her. She collapsed onto the ground next to the bed softly.

Angela held herself up on her hands, and stared down at the ground. She was frustrated, and tears began to build up behind her eyes. This wasn't happening. This day was simply not happening. It was as if the entire world that fell apart, and was slowly behind rebuilt, was trying to unravel around her. A maniac had choked her, and someone had tried to murder her. There were explosions outside, shaking the building. People probably needed medical attention. And she couldn't even stand. But no, she was not going to cry. That would be the final indignity of this wretched day.

He had moved so silently across the room, that she didn't even know he was there until his flawlessly shined boot came into her field of vision. She swallowed. Wasn't he on the phone? Where was Lena, anyway? She should be back by now. But gentle hands lifted her up from her hands and knees, and nudged her into a sitting position. He was kneeing before her, but seemed to tower over her. Sometimes, people had personalities that made them seem bigger than what they were. His was like that.

His eyes swam with a million different things she couldn't recognize. Was he nervous? He was older than her, but still…it was her apartment. There had been an awful lot of unrequited overtures on his part, if Angela thought about it from a certain angle. She didn't want to think about it that way, though. There was too much going on.

"Ah…thank you. You keep rescuing me. And we don't even know each other." It came out sounding less confident than she would have liked. She beamed her most brilliant, if slightly forced smile in his direction. It seemed to loosen him up anyway, as he sank back from a crouch into a sitting position across from her. It was odd how he seemed to trust her implicitly. Angela felt like a fraud.

"Ah well…that is. You needed help. Of course I helped."

"So, you'd carry just anyone back to their room and care for them afterwards?" This was teasing, and she probably shouldn't have.

He looked towards the window. "I don't know. Probably not." He grinned at her.

She smiled back at him genuinely.

"Ah, well I think we can be friends then. Let me introduce myself to you unofficially, officially" She offered her hand, which he took. It felt so dainty and personal within his grasp, but using an American style greeting seemed to help ease his mind. "You can call me Angela.

"Jack."

"Okay then. Do you think you could tell me a little bit about what's going on?" Angela was tired of grasping at straws and wanted some real answers. A direct approach seemed to be best. Jack seemed like that sort of guy.

He sighed. It seemed like he didn't want to talk about it, but didn't see a way not to do so. "Someone tried to kill you, and has killed or attempted to kill other people who work in various departments who have promising research, or specialized technical skill. Basically, anyone high profile. Why? I guess that's obvious. Why now? I'm not sure. We haven't caught anybody alive yet. We seem to be one step behind them, every time. The chief engineer got buried alive inside a mech, when his department was bombed. I just heard they dug him out. Another researcher was attacked, but he wasn't defenseless, and he ended up killing the person attacking him instead."

High profile? Defenseless?

He must have read the look on her face, because he began to expound.

"Angela, the organization most likely involved in this is an international assassin ring, one that wants to see, for whatever reason, the war continue on indefinitely. I'm just guessing, but you probably haven't ever had to fire a gun, have you?" He was sweet, even when he was patronizing. Angela found that she couldn't disagree with him, she didn't want to change the way he thought of her, for some reason.

Angela looked at the carpet. It was her secret shame, but she had fired a gun. She'd taken a life. That, to a doctor, was a cardinal sin. She'd done it to save herself at the time, but in hindsight…still couldn't forgive herself. She didn't say anything to gainsay Jack, and let him make his assumption. The past wasn't something a lot of people were open about. The survivors of the first wave had all been through…something. That's the reason they were survivors.

"I'm a Doctor, of course not. But I'm certainly no one special. I don't have any accomplishments besides being good at surgery for my age." The carpet was looking awfully interesting right about now. Jack seemed to tire of her evasiveness, and tilted her chin up so their eyes met.

"Actually, your work is remarkable. The nanite canisters you helped create have saved lives out in the field, more than once. They've saved a lot of good guys." He gestured over to the empty canister on her side table. "I didn't really need to use it, but it definitely helped with your…" he gestured at her throat with his hands, jaw clenching shut. "I'm going to murder Gabriel."

"Besides that, it's also probably about what you might do. Lindholm got caught working on machines that can be piloted by a single person without fear of getting hacked. His lab blew up, but he was inside the machine. It saved his life, too. I think he lost a bit of his beard, and his eyebrow, but he lived. Everyone else in the lab..."

The tears she had held back earlier came flooding out. Jack's soapbox came to an abrupt conclusion. It was hard to explain, but the thought of another uprising was less frightening than being assassinated for wanting to help people live. What was wrong with the world? Right now, with the Commander here, she was probably safe. But when Jack left, Angela was on her own. What if someone ambushed her? She had no idea she'd even been attacked until she woke up safe in bed. She only had a partial memory of leaving the hospital. She'd had no idea that she almost died. That was terrifying.

She leaned back against the side of her bed, and this time looked towards the ceiling and let the tears flow out silently and mechanically. Jack sat down beside her, but kept his mouth shut. He seemed weary too. So they just sat for a few moments in silence. No explosions, no talk of conspiracies—just sweet, blessed silence.

A knock at the door preceded Lena's return. Jack gestured for Angela to wait, while he stood up and went to answer. She was immediately aware of the loss of warmth from his ambient body heat. Oh, well. That's what blankets were for. He looked through the spyhole for a moment before opening the door. He sure made himself at home fast enough. Angela didn't really mind. It wasn't a bad thing to have a strong friend, just like having a doctor friend. Maybe, if she stayed near him, she would never have to kill anyone again.

Lena Oxton came into the room seeming considerably more subdued than usual. Angela noticed immediately that she had a gun holstered on each hip. Asking what was wrong seemed like a stupid question at this point, but she did it anyway.

Lena settled in beside her, so close that their legs and shoulders were touching. "I was just thinking about home." That was a loaded statement, the gravity of it amplified simply by the age of who said it. Angela didn't know what to reply, so she just tilted her head to the side so it was touching her friend's.

Jack returned from the door and sat on the edge of the bed beside them, looking at his pager rather than in their direction.

"I have to get going. But I want you to do a few things for me in the meantime."

Both of the women looked up, curious.

"First, never go anywhere alone. I don't care what time it is; I don't care where you're going. From now on, until I get someone assigned to both of you, stick together. Lena, that goes for you too."

Lena stuck her lip out, and it looked like she was about to say something sarcastic, when heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. They stopped just in front of Angela's door. She felt herself trying to shrink back into the bedsheets. Childish anxiety. As if her bedsheets would save her from someone trying to murder her. Lena noticed, and squeezed her hand.

"Don't worry love, if anyone comes through that door that you don't want to see, I'll take care of them." She patted one of her sidearms with a smirk. Angela couldn't bring herself to return the smile.

Heavy knocking echoed through the apartment, the sound of a closed fist banging on her front door with patient, military candor. "Commander Morrison? It's Us!"

Jack smiled at them. "That'll be for me. There's extra security on every floor for now, but if you need anything, call me. I don't care what time it is." He dropped a card carelessly onto of the duvet and crossed the room without looking back.

"Be careful" was all Angela could manage to say as he walked out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

10 – Holding On

Jack left women behind in the room without turning back. He had left a card with his pager and SAT phone number on the bed. That was enough. Hopefully, they wouldn't need to use it. He'd done everything he could for the moment. The men would be waiting. They would need to see their commander. He'd already been in contact with his subordinates and department heads via the telephone throughout the afternoon, but it was more than that. A leader needed to be seen. So, he left with a cohort of men dressed in military fatigues, carrying the latest automatic rifles equipped with pulse bombs that R&D had developed. Happily, they'd even brought along an extra for him.

In the subsequent hours they patrolled the entire base, following leads and reinforcing areas that were undermanned. He tried to be everywhere at once. Sometimes, Jack ran ahead of the group, since he could easily do so. R&D, Engineering, Medical, and Aviation had all been hit over the course of the afternoon and early evening. He had never invested much thought towards any of them being soft targets. A military base, by definition, wasn't one. It shouldn't have them. There were going to have to be a lot of changes. Soldiers would protect every single department from now on. And he'd have Ana place contacts within each squad to keep an eye on things. Intelligence had, admittedly, predicted an attack could occur at any time. They simply assumed it would be something large, headed by machines. They were prepared for that. They had not been prepared for small scale infiltration and assassinations attempts upon the support staff.

Truth be told, he should have run things more securely from the beginning. The mistake had cost lives. But there had been so, so many missions lately. The UN was keeping them busy, while they waited on the Swedish Watch point to be completed. And he'd only been in charge for a short time. Gabe seemed to be losing it, acting like he hated everyone. Things were…getting difficult. Responsibility had given him his first few gray hairs in a matter of weeks. It was far too soon for that.

Of the six targeted assassinations, three were successful attempts. A doctor, a researcher, and an engineer. Three others survived, also a doctor, researcher, and engineer. Of those three, two had survived by luck, including his doctor. His? Best not to make that assumption. It was a desire, nothing more. One he probably didn't have time to fulfill. Only one of the marks had been in the position to defend himself. That was going to have to change. Lindholm was a huge man, he should be able to protect himself with the right tools, but convincing a doctor to shoot a gun might be difficult. Jack wasn't sure. He wouldn't force her, but she would have to carry some sort of protection. Thoughts for later.

The snow had resumed by the early hours of the morning, the sky reflecting a heavy red glow above the street lamps. Jack and his men patrolled each area that had been targeted again and again, helping wherever they could. Lindholm's entire shop was gone. The R&D lab had also taken a hit, but much of the sensitive research and technology was protected behind various forms of safety glass, so damage was mitigated to exterior and non-essential areas within the lab. That was a bright spot. Though it was a tragedy about the people who didn't survive. Here and there, a binder still smoldered. It was funny how fires would often start up again if not properly extinguished.

"What about the perpetrators?" Ana had caught up with him at what was left of the R&D facility after leaving Lindholm's shop. The man was a mess. Ana had assigned security to him, and moved on. It seemed heartless, but there was not much he could say that would make up for what the man had loss. Jack knew. Friends, coworkers, protégées. On top of that, the facility was gone, and much of his work. Jack stood silently, looking over the wreckage of the research facility. At least the hospital hadn't been directly hit. Both of the Doctors who had been marks were away from work at the time. Angela was walking home, and the other doctor was asleep in his bed. He'd never had a chance.

"Who?"

"Definitely Talon."

Jack grunted. "How many, do you know?" They departed the research lab, which was located in a large, isolated wing within the medical complex. It had a little lighted path that led from it to the main road.

"We caught two, technically. HQ thinks there were at least three, but the investigation is ongoing. They also say it's possible that we still have moles. I have people watching, everywhere. Gabriel's unit caught one, but he bit his tongue and bled out all over the ground. It was a mess. The other one had the misfortune to attack a researcher named Winston. That man…"

Jack knew. Winston was different. He was also brilliant, and unbelievably strong.

They hit the main road, and begun head east along the main road, away from the hospital and barracks, and towards the open fields and landing strip. Colorful lights alternating red, blue, and green dotted the ground ahead where aircraft occasionally came and went. Jack had immediately requested additional backup from one of the larger European bases in the west. They would be moving to the base in Sweden soon, but until then…he had to protect his assets. His mind wandered back to the Doctor. He felt a strange warmth welling up within his stomach before he reasserted control over his emotions.

"When are the Germans due in?"

Ana's smile was genuine. She was expecting a person she was rather fond of on that airplane, Jack knew. "Any time now." Seeing his competent second in command have someone she cared enough to raise a family with in this sort of world bolstered him. Maybe it was okay to have selfish emotions, after all.

The next few days after the assault on the base went by in a sort of haze. Angela went to work, always escorted by someone with a large rifle. She always took the main path to the hospital both ways. She never returned to her room. 

"Come stay with me, love." Lena had said.

"I don't want to impose." Angela replied, though she had secretly been wishing for an invitation.

"It's not like you're ever going to be home anyway!" That was true. Angela could easily sleep over in the on-call room most evenings, and spent a good deal of her time at work. There had been a lot of collateral damage. "Come on Ang."

Reluctantly, in the end, Angela had agreed. She had mixed feelings. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want to cause Lena trouble either. What if someone came after her again, and Lena got hurt? Several people had passed away on the day of the assault, who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which was sad, because that was where they belonged. That was their workspace. It seemed a reasonable expectation not to be murdered within it as noncombatants. The world didn't work that way anymore, Angela supposed. Everything had changed, and nowhere was safe. Angela firmly believed that she'd never be safe again. She hadn't been safe since the day this had all started. No one had.

She thought about Jack often when she was alone. He had seemed very…caring. Beyond being overwhelmingly attractive, he was a warm person. His presence had been so reassuring on that day, when everything else was chaotic. She hadn't even seen his face since then. His card sat nestled safely within the identification compartment of her backpack; a sort of talisman. The backpack was a new accoutrement. She couldn't stand the idea of leaving her back exposed anymore. Even if the backpack provided no actual protection, it did provide peace of mind. A sliver of it, anyway.

It was midmorning, when she and Lena met outside of the hospital to head over to the large field where the funeral for the fallen was to be held. Like most civilian employees, she wore black. The soldiers wore dress uniforms, deep navy blues and vivid royal blues, depending on rank. Each man or woman had an orderly variation of rank pins and service awards affixed to his breast pocket or shoulder, respectively. The only thing that outshone those gleaming pins was the shine of their boots. The mood was subdued as their community of soldiers and support staff gathered together. Not everyone was able to attend, of course, but most people came.

Sometime during the week, a plane had come from Germany, as evidenced by the mountainous men wearing gleaming armor. They looked like knights, Angela thought. They'd been helping provide security, but that was all she knew about them. One of the men caught her attention though. He had to be the biggest man Angela had ever seen. Had a huge, muscular barrel chest, and legs for days. He was uproariously loud. What drew her in even more was his company. Ana Amari along with a child and…Jack Morrison. They walked by, almost ten feet from her. Jack didn't notice her. Somewhere inside, there was a twinge. She…did miss the idea of him. Even if it was a terrifyingly unsafe idea.

"Whatcha' lookin' at?" Lena's head was on her shoulder. She knew exactly what. "Ah…yeah Jack's good looking for an old timer, I suppose." She was practically yelling. The commander paused for a moment, and Angela caught a breath. Her insides felt frozen. He had to know who Lena was talking to. Younger people had no sense of discretion! But he didn't turn around, and after a moment, kept walking. Angela could have crawled into a hole.

"You know, could go out and date someone yourself, and not concern yourself with who I find attractive. Besides, I was looking at him." Angela pointed to the large, loud man. "Have you ever heard of such an armor?"

"Yeah! They're Crusaders. They have crazy big weapons. You can only be one if you can fit into one of those giant armors they wear, and swing a weapon as big as…." Lena seemed to look around for a comparison of scope. She looked back at Angela and grinned, spreading her arms apart. "They carry weapons about as big as you or me, and swing them around like they're nothing."

"Ahh…." Angela's interest was redoubled. She wanted to meet this boisterous German Crusader, but couldn't think of a reason to do so. And whose child was that? She resembled Ana Amari, but who was the father? They continued onward, towards the meeting place where the pyre would be lit. All the while, Angela had a decent view of the commanders' admirable backside. After a while, a chaplain came and lead a nondenominational memorial for the fallen. Many people had been touched by the loss of a friend or coworker, but few shed tears. Many people had cried for their loved ones in the beginning of the conflict, but as entire cities were engulfed, and families disappeared, the humans who remained were hardened.

Each person was given a small wooden torch to add to the pyre, in lieu of letting everyone who wanted to speak. Such an event could go on for days. Lena went first, and excused herself to go speak with another pilot for a moment. Angela kissed her on the cheek and waved. They agreed to meet up at home, and have a few drinks.

When Angela took her turn, she looked out into the crowd through the wavering curtain of heat. The smoke was becoming rather thick, though there were no actual bodies burning. They'd been buried immediately after the assault. This was symbolic, more for the living than the dead. Since they couldn't do anything more for their fallen friends in such large numbers. She looked out at the crowd, holding her torch. The faces of the men and women out there were so bleak. It was okay to cry. But Angela found no tears waiting.

She paused, wavering in place. She didn't want to say goodbye. She didn't want this. Dropping the torch on to the pyre was accepting events as they happened…and she…

Finally, tears blurred her vision, and smoke stung her eyes. Angela was glad nobody could see. This was a personal time to reflect. Many people probably felt as much as she did, but were strong enough not to show it on their face. She managed to bury her feelings and thoughts before dropping her little torch onto the pyre. But to do so for more than a few minutes was impossible. So she wiped her eyes, and hurriedly walking away from the pyre in search of a quiet spot. Just for a moment.

The field was on the far eastern end of the base annex, but there was a buffer stand of woods between the perimeter fence and it. It offered the only convenient privacy nearby. Angela started into the woods, only to have a firm hand grasp her wrist and yank her back towards the field. It was no one she knew personally. The soldier stood resplendent in this dress uniform, gleaming and pressed from head to toe. But tears welled in his red-rimmed eyes, and his disgust for her was thinly veiled.

"Miss, you need to turn around, and head back to the funeral, or head home. This isn't a safe place. No one should be alone." It wasn't a suggestion. His hand was so tight around her wrist that it hurt.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I just. I needed a moment. I lost someone, too." She had, they'd been coworkers, and she felt their loss intimately.

The soldier's face suffused with red. "If you weren't here, they'd probably still be here, just so you know. Lots of people would still be here. But you aren't thinking about them. So off you trot, into the woods alone, behaving as if there's nothing dangerous about that at all." He was right. Angela hung her head. The tears fell in earnest, now. She was ashamed. It would have been better to mourn among the safety of the crowd.

"You're right, of course. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to be alone."

His expression was at war. He seemed to believe that the targets were at fault for the attack and collateral damage. But he wanted to do his duty. She was making things difficult. But he was, as well. He had no right to grab her. He could easily make his points without being so abusive. But, he was a young man. He had lost people. Was he wrong to feel that it was, in part, her fault? No, there was truth in that. But it was tactless, it was hurtful, and it…now was not the time. Or maybe, it was the perfect time. Everyone mourned differently. Angela realized she was just this man's scapegoat.

"Okay, of course, I'll go back now." Her tears were dry. The little side trip had been cathartic. It might seem self-immolating, but having someone else hate her besides herself was a relief. It made her feel normal. She'd have to report this young man, so he could be psychologically evaluated. He clearly needed some help with his anger issues. She moved to go, but the soldier hadn't let go of her wrist. If anything, his grip was tightening. It had become alarmingly painful. His eyes were looking beyond her, nowhere in particular.

"Mister…" She looked for his nametag, but found that it wasn't where it should be. His eyes were wild, face flushed. Little mental alarms began to sing throughout Angela's psyche. She distantly heard the funeral bell tolling. It was so loud. It would drown out everything. It would ring once for every fallen comrade. That was seventy times…

She was flying through the air before she finished thinking the thought. Her back slammed against a nearby tree. Oak? She didn't know. The backpack she wore spared her from the brunt of it, but it still stung. The air exploded from her lungs, and she sank to the ground. Even if she did shout, nobody would hear over the bell. This man was simply angry. What at first seemed like a mutual exercise in cathartic release had morphed into something abusive and dark. Angela had once again been too naïve about her surroundings.

"Stop. Young man. You stop this instant." She used her most commanding voice, desperately trying to keep it from shaking, even a little. Even though she was young, she had a matronly aspect that could get under the skin of others. "You said what you needed to say. You're right. I don't disagree with any one thing you've said completely. But there's no reason to take this further. Please just go back now. I won't say anything, so just go back." His eyes widened at her. He seemed to suddenly weigh the potential consequences of his actions. He stood there, his face a shroud. Angela was terrified, but she'd managed not to show it, or sound like it. That might play to her advantage. Or it might make things worse.

She would never know what the young man decided to do though, because he was suddenly no longer standing over her. He collapsed into an unconscious heap with a resounding crack. That was a broken jaw, to be sure. Angela, who was huddled with her back against the tree and her arms wrapped around her knees, never saw Jack coming. But there he was, standing over her. He'd knocked the other man out with a single punch, and now stood staring down at her. The urge to shrink down and not be noticed was overwhelming, all things considered. Would he be mad at her, too?

"Dr. Ziegler."

She looked up. He was being formal. He was dressed formally too. Royal blue, pressed and pinned, shining. A knight in shining blue armor.

"Yes?" It was all she could say without giving herself away.

"What are you doing down there, playing in the dirt? I didn't realize that was part of your research." Oh, bless him.

He extended a hand down to her, and she hesitated. It was gloved in white, and totally pristine. She looked down at her hands, which were comparably filthy.

She began to stand up on her own. "Ah…sorry…they're dirty…thanks, anyway…" As per his habit, he moved more quickly than she easily perceive. With both of those pristine, gloved hands he grasped her arms just above the elbows, and hoisted her up to her feet. But instead of letting her be, he pulled her immediately into a smothering embrace. He was significantly taller than her, so her face squished comfortably into his solar plexus. His arms exuded warmth, and strength. She was too surprised to resist. And it was so pleasant, what sane person would?

"I thought I told you…never to go anywhere alone." He sounded as aggrieved as she felt. "I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. But please. I'm asking." His voice was barely audible, almost a whisper. His mouth had to be close to her ear. "I don't want to lose any more friends out here. I know I'm busy, but if you need anything…I can make time. So don't do things like this."

Angela was quiet. Her mind and heart were in warring states. She was being embraced by a man. That was one thing. A man who had saved her more than once. She was starting to feel a little ashamed. And enamored. Ah, it was confusing.

"Jack…"

"What is it?"

"Teach me how to shoot."

He squeezed her tightly against him. "You don't need to learn how to do that, if you don't want to. You just have to stay out of places like this."

"I know that I don't need to. I want to. I've been learning a lot of lessons about the world lately." She tried to avoid looking at the collapsed soldier. Her feelings were mixed about him, as well. She saw that he followed her eyes. "Don't punish him too harshly."

"Have to."

"Please?"

"It's one thing to be upset, it's another to act on that feeling." The tone in his voice said it wasn't up for debate. She let it go. It wasn't her decision, since he wasn't in her chain of command. It wasn't the decision she would make though. There were many juxtapositions between healers and soldiers, Angela supposed.

"Don't worry. It'll be a few months mopping in the rain and cleaning latrines. He'll also be eating through a straw for a long time. And those teeth won't be coming back. Humble pie never hurt anyone, where I come from. Neither did a good, sound ass-kicking, but they tend to frown upon that these days."

After what felt like an eternity he released her. Angela had to make a concerted effort not to wobble, he legs felt entirely too watery beneath her.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah." She did.

"Alright, let's get going. I'll walk you home."

He did. 


	11. Chapter 11

The woman who currently referred to herself as Kerrigan turned the corner of the long, brick trimmed barracks building her residence was located in, and nearly ran directly into Gabriel Reyes. He didn't notice, or ever seem to see her, as he paced back and forth muttering to himself. Who was he talking to? Himself, or someone over his little earpiece radio? Ah, no, he was talking to himself. That was a new development.

"Gabe?" She took a few steps towards him, heels clicking audibly on the paved sidewalk.

She approached the little smoker's nook where he was pacing with caution. Four flower beds of red brick formed a hollow interior square. Smokers would improvise the outside of the beds into benches, she supposed. Kerrigan had rarely seen anyone who still picked up the habit, so the smoke pit behind the barracks was a nice, quiet spot usually. That was probably why Gabe was hiding out here.

"No, I don't care who you are!" He was holding his head in his hands. He still hadn't seen her, or rather, he couldn't see her. "NO! You're DEAD!" Gabriel was pacing, sweating, and agitated. He continued to walk back and forth, looking in several directions with unseeing eyes.

Clearly, the man Kerrigan was poisoning was beginning to slip. And he knew it. How long had he known, and hid the fact? "You aren't real! Go away!" He stopped and leaned his head against the side of the building, which was red brick to a certain height, just like the flower beds. Government installations were so boring in their uniformity.

Kerrigan watched as the man who had destroyed her family in the process of coming after her began to weep. His nails dug into the side of his face, and he sank down into a crouch. She almost felt a measure of remorse. Did Overwatch know she had little choice but to hide and eventually upload the files related to the biggest Omnic exploit to date? No. Did they show remorse after the disaster they'd caused in her home? Again, no. So why should she feel anything now?

So Kerrigan had grown up a little bit, and decided to get revenge on those who had robbed her of her future. A family, marriage, peace. That was all she had ever wanted. But it wasn't in the cards. She never officially joined with Talon, but she made use of their resources, just as they'd made use of her. And they had approached her with an offer, there was no compulsion. Simply hide the data until a certain day and time, and then upload it. Unfortunatley the night she was supposed to upload the file, Gabriel Reyes showed up with a cohort of soldiers.

She had agreed to help Talon, even if it was to get money to help her father out of debt. They never really forced her to do anything. The people who had threatened her father however…they wouldn't be bothering anyone, ever again. Truth be told, she never thought anyone would find out about the disc.

It was a shame they hadn't gotten to Reyes that very night, when they'd planted ordinance on the helicopters. She'd been told that they'd run out of time to sabotage both vehicles, and he'd lucked out and boarded the craft that wasn't loaded with explosives. They'd even pushed him out of the Hellicopter into shark infested, bloody waters. Somehow, like a cockroach, he'd managed to survive that too.

After an undercover group of Overwatch agents in Italy had nearly caught her, she'd been forced to change her face. But that made it easy to infiltrate the base as a civilian. She'd spent the last several months convincing Gabriel Reyes she was in charge of the managing the living quarters, while slowly poisoning him. It was easy enough. No one paid attention to people like Kerrigan. Well, the real Kerrigan, anyway. She was innocuous. She was also dead. Nobody had noticed when "Kerrigan" had become someone else entirely. It was the one thing Azaleea did regret.

Sleeping with him hadn't been part of the plan, of course. It certainly wasn't necessary to have a relationship with anyone, but she'd wanted to. He was entertaining. It was almost a shame. If his little team of UN worshipers hadn't come and murdered half her family…maybe things would be different. This was personal. So she would ruin him. From head to toe, mind and heart, Gabriel Reyes would suffer long for his sins. For the sin of living, too. Many people knew the price of surviving, these days.

Azaleea smiled to herself. The past wasn't worth thinking about. What mattered was revenge—a morally equitable outcome. And looking at the man who was tearing himself apart before her very eyes, that revenge was going quite well. She could never beat him in a contest of strength, he'd find a way to survive. So taking him down from within was satisfying. She'd simply started introducing trace amounts of mercury into his bath. It was easy, and crude. He'd never think of it; his ego was far to grandiose for those he deemed beneath himself…

The sound of him beating his head against the wall was as startling as it was sudden. The first time it was a hollow echo. The second time, a wet thump. The third time, he fell to his hands and knees. "Kerrigan" ran to his aid. He hadn't seen her before, but maybe he would see her now.

Blood poured down his face, where the skin had broken above his eyebrow in more than one place. It was a mess. Wounds on the face tended to bleed profusely.

"Gabe? Oh, goodness, Gabe! Are you okay? What happened? What's going on?" His eyes were tilting in and out of focus. He'd managed to give himself a concussion, the imbecile. It wasn't going to help. He'd still being losing his mind when he woke up. "Oh, we have to get you to the hospital. I'm taking your phone."

She pulled his phone off the hip holster he wore, and pretended to dial medical while she walked in the opposite direction.

*************************************************************************************  
Lena Oxton saw everything.

She saw the woman smiling as Gabriel Reyes wept. She saw him bash his head against the wall. She saw every moment of it. As one of her favorite comic heroines once said, nobody ever looked up. It was true. Lena's observation of events wasn't exactly the material of clandestine spycraft.

She had called Medical, and Security. Why weren't they already here? With all the additional security, someone should be arriving any moment. Lena made a choice. She made sure her weapons were firmly in place on either hip, and jumped ten feet to land in the flower beds below. It hurt, but she bent her knees to absorb the shock. As much as she wanted to check on Gabriel Reyes, she knew someone would be there any moment. On the other hand, the woman who had been standing over him was getting away. Who was she, and where was she going?

Lena followed, this time, being careful not to be seen. 

Angela Ziegler was working the afternoon shift. She didn't mind it. As the days rolled by, she found keeping herself busy with work kept her mind of certain things she didn't want to think about, and certain people she desperately did. Walking home at night had become considerably less fearful. Ever since the incident in the woods, she'd been learning self-defense. She still wasn't very good, but she had a little pistol that could incapacitate an assailant if necessary. Her aim had definitely improved since the first day. Jack hadn't been able to spare the time for her, so Lena had been helping. And she had an escort, usually someone Jack knew personally. She had regained a measure of peace of mind, that was for sure. It seemed like that was his goal, too. He was a good man. They seemed to have a lot in common. Except he was a lot stronger. Maybe one day she could be as tough as him. If only she could shake the feeling that he didn't want to see her.

A stretcher rolled by her in the hallway heading toward the CAT machine. She turned her head to spare a glance and felt her insides go cold. It was him. The man who had started her on the path to losing her peace of mind to begin with. Gabriel Reyes lie prone on the stretcher, his face a masked with blood. Angela swallowed. She wouldn't let what happened haunt her, or beat her down, or stop her from doing her job. She also wasn't going to be a victim again. What had happened to him? She headed down the hall in the opposite direction, and over to the nurse's station in the recovery wing where she was currently assigned. A familiar, matronly woman barely glanced up at her.

"Contact Gabriel Reyes' commander, please. You can tell them that for now his condition is stable, with an apparent head injury. I'll check on him, but tell security to send someone over to assist me. He's not a good patient."

The nurse nodded. "Do you need any help now?"

"Not right now. We'll operate as usual. When it comes time to do vitals, then yes. I'll let you know in a few minutes."

Clare picked up her handset, presumably to take care of the tasks Angela had asked of her, so Angela made her way back into the main hall and headed towards radiology. At a brisk walk, it took her about two minutes to make it to the administration desk. Angela wondered what had happened to the man. He was a formidable man, so it didn't seem possible that much could hurt him. Especially not on base. They hadn't been flying missions out of the annex that she was aware of for a couple of weeks. Gabriel Reyes was presumably still on medical leave anyway, or at least he was supposed to be. An orderly spared her a glance as she whisked through the waiting area. Her sneakers squeaked a few times on the ultra-shiny, buffed floor. She felt bad for leaving marks, making work for the poor person. But she had to know. Call it terminal curiosity.

She entered the private booth where the two on duty technicians stood examining the readout. They were…not what she expected. In addition to his present head injury there were markers of inflammation, and areas where blood flow looked improper. Could the man be suffering from a serious illness? Was that why he attacked her before? Was he hiding it for some reason? Angela went through a mental checklist of things that could cause inflammation, irritableness, delusion, and more in previously healthy adults. The thoughts were sobering. If Gabriel Reyes was not sick, was he being poisoned?  
Angela left the room with a million more questions than answers, but ordered some additional labs on the way out. Who was this man, really? He was close with Jack, that much she knew. But he'd also been struggling with seeing people who were not there, aggression, and moodiness. Angela headed back towards to the nurse's station. There was a way to get an answer to her questions.

By the time she made it back to the recovery wing, a familiar man leaned against the counter. Warmth flooded through her. She wasn't expecting him. It'd been so long since they'd last seen each other. Replays of the hug they'd shared were all she had. Replays, replays, replays. Her sneakers squeaked when she entered the wing through the open double doors. He turned to see her, and straightened. He was fully dressed in what Angela had come to think of as his "soldier getup", minus the beret because he was indoors. His blond hair was ruffled, and his blue eyes hard with a touch of…something. Concern?

"Dr. Ziegler."

Ah, formal as always.

"Commander Morrison. What can I do for you?" When she returned his formality, he almost seemed to flinch. It was an infinitesimal movement, but it was there. But what could she do? She could only treat him professionally in the workplace. He was a high ranking man, after all. It would be to her detriment to behave otherwise. Plus, he started it.

"I'm here to check on my man."

"Ah." Angela gestured for him to move away from the Nurses' station and out of the hall. They stepped into a nearby unoccupied room, though Angela left the door cracked. Maintaining privacy was important for those who could not speak up for themselves. But she didn't want to seem as if she was being too secretive, either.

She relayed her thoughts and observations to Jack as soon as they entered the room. He listened politely. A passing nurse stuck her head in and informed her that the patient was on his way down from Radiology.

Angela, feeling a mix of things she couldn't put into words, decided it was best to part ways with the commander and get on about her business. Apparently, he felt the same way, as he reached for the door at the same time. Their hands bumped, but if that was all, the touch traveled through her entire body.

"Oh, excuse me. Sorry about that." She withdrew her hand, at the same time as he withdrew his.  
"Well, I suppose we'll get out of here eventually." She smiled her embarrassed smile.

"Ang…" He whispered. She froze. He'd never called her that before. It took a moment for her blush to calm down, but when it did, she turned and faced him directly.

"How can I help you, Commander?" Her heart screamed it was wrong to be purposefully reticent, but her mind was against someone who couldn't be seen with her in public, or bother to call, or stop by, or…"

"I'm sorry."

Her little internal diatribe screeched to a halt.

"Sorry, sorry for what? You don't owe me anything, Commander, not a thing. On the other hand, I owe you my life. I know it had to be a lot on you. So, I guess I should be the one to apologize, if we're being fair." She peeked out the half-open doorway. Nobody was around that would notice their conversation. Besides them, only the nurses at the station going about their business a few feet away were anywhere nearby.

He sighed.

"No, no, that's really not the case at all."

He looked like he wanted to explain it. Explain his stoicism, his absence, his aloofness. Angela didn't have time for it. That's why she didn't get close to people in the first place. Besides it being beyond a bad idea to get emotionally attached to anyone in this world, she worked all the time. She got fulfillment from helping others. She didn't need the emotional rollercoaster that his interjection into her life represented.

The PA activated, summoning the resident doctor to the phlebology. That would likely be the blood test she had ordered before she'd left Radiology. Ah, the remote workstations were wonderfully convenient at times.

"I'm sorry, Commander Morrison, would you excuse me? I have to go get those results. It'll be about your friend. I'll have someone come talk to you when I've made my diagnosis."

"Ang, please wait."

She turned and exited, much like he had several weeks ago, without looking back. 


	12. Chapter 12

Lena followed the red haired woman as closely as possible without risking being seen. She'd been keeping up a light jog for the better half of an hour, straight through the woods. Oddly, there was some semblance of a beaten path. The stranger seemed to know exactly where she was going, too. Lena deduced that she must take this route often enough to know it. That would make her some sort of spy, perhaps. Despite the clearness of the trail, every now and then, a briar would snag her sock, leg, or the hem of her athletic shorts. Just a quick sting and nothing more. It would itch like hell, later.

A thin sheen of sweat shown on her brow, matting her short brown hair down to her forehead. Where could the woman possibly be headed? The annex base wasn't very big, but it was very secluded. The nearest town was little more than a stoplight and petrol station, and that was eighteen kilometers down the gently sloping hill that the base had been built upon. She could only be leaving. There was nothing out here…nothing at all.

Slowly but surely, they were approaching the southern perimeter, which was on the side of the base closest to the road. The woods began to thin, and the mystery woman slowed her pace. Lena could jog all day, but she was filled with innumerable emotions that were causing her to feel anxious, making it difficult to regulate her breathing. What if this woman was one of the people who had attempted to murder Ang, and killed all those other people during the raid? What if several more of them waiting ahead? What if Lena, at the young age of eighteen, was running to her death? And what then? How would anyone ever find her?

With those sobering thoughts, Lena stopped following the woman with any intent to intercept her. She fished a black, sturdy radio out of her utility pouch. It was the same phone shed used to call for someone to help Reyes, before she'd taken off after the suspicious woman. No one would be aware of her position unless she made them aware. Happily, she was still within range of the main radio tower. She made the call.

"This is pilot Lena Oxton, repeat, this is flight LT Oxton! I'm currently in pursuit of a suspicion person. Female, between twenty-five and thirty-five, roughly 160cm, red hair, heading towards the southern perimeter via the woods. It's also likely that she's involved with the assault on officer Reyes, send backup immediately!"

There was a brief pause, then a succinct, professional response.

"Copy that Oxton, we're dispatching a unit in your direction, maintain pursuit but try not to engage alone."

"Yeah, yeah, got it." She was breathing hard. Had she been talking too loud? It suddenly seemed very quiet, and still. Did she sound as winded as she felt? The adrenaline was surging through her veins with reckless abandon.

She closed her radio, and dialed down the volume, lest an incoming transmission be overheard and give away her position. Inching forward a step at a time, Lena made her way in the direction of the escaping suspect. A crashing sound off to her right got her full attention, so she never saw the ham-sized fist coming from her left.

The resounding crack of a mans closed fist against her temple didn't seem to be connected to her in any way. She was just happily resting on the ground, here in the woods. Why bother going anywhere? Oh hell. Oh, no.

There was a strange man standing over her had a sober look on his face. He was all business, punching a lone woman in the side of her head. Lena struggled for coherence. This was not good. She knew that any minute a cohort of marines was going to come bursting through the woods on her trail, but that wouldn't save her. She had to save herself. For those who had passed away, and for her dear friends who carried the burden of surviving.

She had two pistols, one in either hip. They emitted a pulse that was utterly devastating at close range. The man didn't seem concerned about her defending herself, though. She knew her eyebrow was split, but thankfully the blood was flowing down the side of her face instead of into her eyes. She'd be able to aim.

At the same time as the thuggish, heavyset man in black reared back with a booted foot to kick her, likely in the head for a finishing blow, Lena dislodged one of her pistols from the hip holster that was partially coved by her loose, white jogging shirt. The sound of the shot never reached her ears though. The man simply toppled over backwards. Lena looked sidelong at the hand she had been holding her pistol with. The gun had fallen from her hand, which trembled uncontrollably. She'd fired it. She'd killed him. But there was little choice in this situation. Kill, or be killed. Lena swallowed. She was going to be sick.

A moment later the bushes rustled ever so softly. Lena knew it wasn't the marines she was hoping to see. The red headed woman she'd been chasing stepped into view. Who could run that fast in heels? Lena saw that they were heeled boots, though. That made a little more sense, at least. Gosh, that wasn't important. Her head hurt, though. Red head's face contorted into a wry smile, as if she knew Lena's thoughts.

"My, my. What an interesting fly you are. Look what you've done to my associate." She barely glanced toward the man who'd recently toppled over with the smoking hole in his chest. He sputtered, still alive, though his life was pouring steadily out of him, all thanks to Lena's blaster. "Rando, darling, I'm afraid I can't take you back with me in this state. You'll never be able to keep up." The flagging man shook his head from side to side, muttering somewhat incoherently. Meanwhile, his compatriot stepped over to Lena, and stepped on her wrist without any fear that she'd be shot as well. Her booted heel ground Lena's wrist into the dusty, mud-brown earth. There were still snow patches here and there, but the last good thaw had melted almost everything. Lena's rear currently happened to be directly on top of one of those patches. If someone found her, it would definitely look like she peed. Best to just die then.

Meanwhile, Lena was frozen with fear. What about this woman was so intimidating? The woman neatly picked up the blaster from the ground, and within moments dispatched her already dying comrade. "Of course I was going to do that anyway, but not here. Now I probably can't come back." She frowned to herself before turning her attention back to Lena.

"Now, dear, you've seen me, so it's your turn." She turned the blaster and aimed it at Lena. Lena squeezed her eyes shut, waiting. She had acted on her own, and it had cost her. Jack was always telling her...warning her…not to get carried away and try to do everything. And fear…fear was a force to be reckoned with, as it now held her as firmly in place as any shackle. Jack was usually right. Her realization had come too little, too late, to do her any good though. The woman smiled down at her and squeezed the trigger.

For the second time in a few short months, Jack sat beside the hospital bed of the first friend he had ever had within the ranks of Overwatch. When they'd started out, Reyes had been his senior and mentor. That was before everything became…official. Reyes still held the same position as he did back then, but Jack had been promoted over him. And Gabriel seemed to hate him for it. At the time, his friend had encouraged him to take the position, and even seemed happy for him. Had it all been a lie? Jack sighed. He didn't have a head for phony bullshit, so he'd never know unless Reyes confessed to it. He leaned back in the flimsy plastic bedside chair to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. It creaked dangerously beneath his weight. He adjusted his center to compensate. Best to be careful, or he'd be a patient too. Of course, then he'd get to see Dr. Ziegler more often. If she even wanted to see him anymore. As time went on, he grew increasingly certain that that was no longer the case.

He'd been so busy after the base was assaulted. Hunting down and extinguishing every possible leak, traitor, and ne'er-do-well within the organization, all in secret, was a difficult task. Reyes had been invaluable, but his health had seemed to be flagging towards the end of the weeks-long mission to hunt the perps down. He always had headaches, and his temperament was downright awful. It was a mission that was unsanctioned, of course. If it ever came to light, there might be hell to pay. Working within the rules made it difficult to catch the ones who didn't have to obey them. Jack was willing to pay the price. For that matter, so were the rest of the members of his little clandestine group. Amari, Lindholm, Wilhelm, Reyes, and a handful of others had lent their time to the project. But it left little time for anything, or anyone else when combined with other official missions and work that had to be done on time as well.

He sighed again. There was nothing he could do. Given the choice between his personal life, and the safety and security of the entire human resistance force under his command, he had to choose the latter, because that included her. Really, the choice was made for him. It was unfortunate. He felt a cold hollow carved out within his middle, where something had started to grow, but been stunted, perhaps forever. Would Angela ever forgive him? He couldn't blame her if she did not. It would undoubtedly be safer for her if she was not connected to him, anyway. Just the thought of something bad happening to her because of her association with him pissed him off. Perhaps, then, being separated was their fate. When he thought of it that way, it was hard to argue with.

At that moment, the good Doctor swept into the room, her sneakers occasionally squeaking on the ultra-buff tiles, and her long white coat making a rhythmic swooshing sound. The sight of her made the generic room seem far more vivid. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but several blonde wisps had escaped. She was radiant. Jack looked up at her expectantly.

"He's been poisoned," She stated matter-of-factly, walking over to the bed apparently unafraid, though Jack knew she was. She got very formal when she was nervous. "He has every physical marker, and his blood test came back positive for mercury poisoning. The question is how. As you might imagine, it could hardly be an accident." She leveled a very meaningful gaze at him. Doctors were very suspicious of the Soldier Enhancement program, but it didn't involve that kind of thing. Try convincing one of that, though.

Jack was taken aback. "So you mean, he's not just an unpleasant asshole of late, there's a medical explanation behind it for it?"

Angela nodded, unaffected by Jack's uncharacteristically harsh description of the man. Maybe she simply agreed. "To some extent, at least. We're going to take him out for procedures now. He'll need dialysis immediately, and then there's a medicinal regime. His symptoms should improve over time." All the while, she continued to eye her patient like a dangerous insect. Jack wondered if she even realized the terrifying extent of her present hawkishness.

The aforementioned support staff began to file into the room to retrieve Gabe. One disengaged the bed, while two others took the headboard and footboard. Behind all of them stood an armed guard. Jack noticed for the first time that they'd restrained him to the bed. They were taking his last visit into heavy consideration, then. Jack didn't bother to tell them the cuffs would never hold Gabriel if he wanted them off. The man with the gun likely already knew that. He nodded discreetly in Jack's direction, as if on cue. Good. Reyes was a powerful asset, one Jack didn't want to waste, but if he ever touched Angela again, Jack was going to kill him. There'd been little time in the aftermath of everything that had happened before to properly settle things, but Jack hadn't forgotten. Poison or not, he'd never forget what her neck had looked like after Reyes had laid hands on it. Feeling his blood pressure start to rise, Jack chewed the inside of his mouth and searched for a distraction.

The operations radio on his hip crackled to life. Two little lights on top flashed incoming and ongoing transmissions. That was unusual on his frequency, as there weren't any active missions. He couldn't quite make them out in the din of the room, so he picked it up and held it to his ear. It was the captain of the Marine's cohort and the front gate...searching for someone. A suspicious person had fled off into the woods, it seemed. And…Lena Oxton had pursued that suspect on her own.

Jack practically burst through the doorway exiting the room, startling everyone remaining inside it. Dr. Ziegler's eyes widened with questions, but as usual…he didn't have time. He hoped she'd understand when she heard the story, later. He gave her a brief look of apology, and saw the moment her expression became veiled, her eyes hooded…and his mouth twisted with the bitter taste of regret. He could never seem to do anything for her, even though he really, really wanted to.

He ran down the corridor and through the security doors. He ran out the front door and leap down the stairs. He didn't slow down until he was halfway across the base, where the search command had set up. His boots crunched on the half frozen earth, and his breath was visible in front of him. He exchanged a lazy salute with the captain.

"Tell me everything you know." Jack said. The Captain nodded and explained the situation. He was typical soldier, straight backed and attentive. It was impressive that he was on scene so quickly, to be honest. Jack looked towards the woods and listened patiently. Apparently, it'd only been a few minutes. Several shots had been reported. No one had been recovered yet. And…Wilhelm was approaching the scene. Jack felt a measure of relief. That was almost as good as going himself.

"Commander Morrison, any orders Sir?"

Jack grunted. It was painful to say, but he did. "Let the men do their jobs, Captain." 


	13. Chapter 13

Truth, justice, and glory; there days, there were a lot of reasons to fight. Reinhardt Wilhelm swung his hammer for justice. It was the reason he kept fighting—the certainty that one day, those responsible for starting this war would pay their due. He just had to keep fighting. To keep pushing forward, even in the face of overwhelming odds. Even when he was drenched in sweat, filth, and gore from a battle, he'd keep swinging his hammer. He simply could not allow himself to die until the war was won. No matter how old he got. His mission—his current mission—was security work. It was completely boring. It wasn't like a battlefield, where glory could be won. It was like being frozen in place.

He, and a handful of other men from his home, had flown in to bolster Overwatch's Swiss annex security while construction on the larger, full-fledged base was completed. With people manning both locations, their resources were spread thin. And certain key people had been identified as targets on the annex. Reinhardt frowned. The research facility they were building was going to be state of the art. Combined with independent weapons manufacturing facilities, they had their own self-contained R&D for continued weapons research. The base would allegedly be capable of producing the most state of the art weaponry, in the highest volume imaginable. Such a thing could turn the tide of the war. Reinhardt had even heard they were working on an airplane that could teleport. Imagine. He had been impressed with the Crusader armor when he'd first donned it. He almost smiled. What a time to be alive. Maybe he'd see justice done after all.

Still, he missed home. He missed his brothers-in-arms. It wasn't an insurmountable distance, but it was far enough to feel an ever-present longing, something like a constant internal tug. There was always something missing when living abroad. A certain sweetness and familiarity in the air. Home was as ephemeral as it was tangible. On the upside, this mission wasn't supposed to last much longer, and he was grateful. The company was good though. Ana Amari and little Fareeha were lively, constant sources of joy to him. He always missed seeing them, especially Ana. But, no one had been able to beat him in an arm wrestling contest here. Worse, after the first night, few people were willing to try. So Reinhardt drank his ale and wished for the day he could return to Stuttgart with the few other men he'd been come with. He missed rowdy contests of strength, and strong beer. The atmosphere here was subdued, overworked, and bleak. There weren't enough people here to have a shift off more than once or twice a week, even for a nobody without rank. So, Reinhardt didn't get to indulge much. It was hard not to miss home in these conditions.

The area he and a cohort of Marines were currently searching wasn't quite as densely wooded as he was used to. It was thin, scrubby, and rocky. Trees, and thorny bushes made the trail on the ground almost invisible. But it was there. It had been easy to pick up Oxton's trail after he'd found the path. The downside was that the entire jog had been uphill. What had gotten into her, chasing someone, possibly a talon agent, out in the woods? He was going to have to have a talk with her. It was dangerous to go alone! So he forged onward as quickly as he could, with the Marines that had been sent in with him to help apprehend the suspect. Reinhardt hoped they caught up in time. This area was close to the road. He was sure Oxton could handle herself, but it was another thing if the suspects escaped.

He was within one hundred meters of the gate when shots rang out through the air nearby. They weren't pistol shots, however. The sound of a pistol was jarring at best. The sound of a blaster was something more…compact. Succinct. It didn't travel. It was muffled, and didn't properly reference the destructive force of the implement itself. Reinhardt hated the things, but he knew several pilots who favored them. Lena Oxton carried two. Another shot cut through the silence, immediately after the first. It came from off to the right. Reinhardt adjusted his course, and headed in the new direction, slightly off the narrow path. The marines followed.

*************************************************************************************

Lena Oxton stared. The report of the blaster had reached her ears, but she didn't feel any pain. She wasn't dead, and didn't seem to be bleeding. The red headed woman stared at her with wide eyes. The contempt had drained away from her face, and been replaced by a look of shock. Just what was going on? The blow Lena had taken to the head earlier was really getting to her. It was starting to hurt. Especially her teeth. Why did her teeth hurt if she'd been punched in the side of the head? Meh, thoughts for later. Maybe she had been shot and really was dying, but couldn't feel anything. If so, wouldn't the red headed woman be happier? Everything seemed out of sorts.

As the most boisterous man Lena had ever met crashed through the bushes and into sight, she glanced down at herself. She had lost one pistol earlier to the vile woman, yes, but the one that hadn't been taken from her was in her right hand, which was shaking uncontrollably. How did that get there? The full weight of what had happened settled neatly down upon her shoulders. The blaster fell from her grip, finally overcome by the tremors. Her hand was greased with perspiration. The woman had shot at her. And …she'd missed. Lena, however, had not missed. Survival instinct had kicked in, and overrode the arctic blast of fear that had immobilized her.

The woman wavered before her, mouth open, as the Marines fanned out onto the scene. Then she summarily collapsed into a heap on the ground next to her comrade. Lena's would be savior approached, a massive hammer over his massive shoulders. And he was just…all around massive. It would have been laughable if her hands weren't shaking so hard. She'd just nearly died. And she'd killed two people. And it definitely looked like she had peed her pants. She really hadn't expected that issue to come back into play; she'd expected to be dead.

Everything suddenly felt very swirly, and fuzzy. She appraised herself once again. Nope, she'd definitely not been shot. This was a different sensation. Adrenaline flooding out of her body? A concussion? Lena wasn't sure. All she knew, was that the giant barrel-chested man with the oversized hammer and his troupe of marines were a glorious sight. Just. Bloody. Glorious. The marines went about checking the corpses, to make sure they were dead, and securing the perimeter, while he big man approached her.

"Cheers, Love." She croaked, and managed a lazy wave from her place in the dirt.

"Young lady, what are you doing out here by yourself getting into trouble?" The man with the Hammer was old enough to be her father. He was also the biggest man Lena had ever seen. His smile was infectious, and he had legs for days. Who was he? He didn't have the same uniform as the marines. His accented English and physical features suggested he was one of the German Crusaders on loan from the town near Eichenwald. He bent over and offered her a hand, which she accepted, and hoisted herself up to her feet. He didn't even notice her full weight bearing down on one side of his body. He was a big, big man. Lena's insides felt like barely solidified Gelatin. She tried not to let on.

She smiled at the big man, she couldn't help it. "You know, technically, as a lieutenant, I'm probably your superior. Maybe. You're not in a uniform! Is it your day off? Why are you running around in the woods on your day off?"

The man, who could have been her father, barked a laugh. "Well, that's true sir! Wilhelm, reporting for duty!" He saluted, the kindly, slightly amused look still on his face. "There aren't any days off when you fight for glory!" He laughed to himself. Was he joking? Or did he think he was some sort of knight? His carefree gait spoke of raw strength. Lena was silently glad for someone like him to have shown up. Her blaster sat useless, caked in the upturned dirt where she'd dropped it. She'd rather the people she worked with daily not perceive any sort of weakness in her. This man seemed to pointedly ignore it in favor of…whatever it was he was imagining. Glory? She returned his salute with good cheer. Despite everything, Lena couldn't feel down on herself about what she'd done. Whether this zany, knightly man was partially responsible for that…well. She could work through her feelings later.

As they walked back towards the base, leaving the marines to maintain the scene for an incoming forensic squadron, Lena explained briefly what had happened. Wilhelm, to his credit, listened politely. His gaze seemed elsewhere as he walked beside her. They neared the end of the woods. Light from the vast open field that abutted the barrier wilderness poured in from cracks in the tree line.

"Lieutenant young lady."

"Oxton."

"You're too young for this. Let the old men fight on the front lines."

She cast him a sidelong glance. That would have been offensive, if the tone of his voice didn't seemed laced with an aching despair. He wasn't trying to be patronizing. He'd lost someone, someone close. He had to have. She took the comment in stride. He had obviously seen people her age pass away from cocksure mistakes. She was old enough to be his daughter…so…it was entirely possible. Lena nearly choked on her pride. She'd only survived this day by luck. She patted him on the back in commiseration.

"Wilhelm?" Her use of his name seemed to snap him out of his negative reverie. He grinned down at her.

"Yes, Lieutenant Oxton?" There was nothing wry in his use of her rank this time. That was unusual. Most people scoffed at someone her age, with her lack of experience, being a lieutenant. But that was the required rank to operate aircraft, and there was no one better.

"Call me Lena."

He ruffled her hair as they broke through the tree line together.

*************************************************************************************

Three days had passed since patient Gabriel Reyes had undergone his dialysis treatment, and began supplemental detoxification. Today was the day he'd be discharged officially. Other than routine, weekly monitoring of his blood, the medical staff had done everything possible to cure his condition. He seemed to be in high spirits. He was a man who had been trapped in a tunnel, able to see the light just out of reach…and suddenly found himself able to move towards it again. Health, Angela reflected, really was everything.

She was his physician, this time by choice. She found that she couldn't give up on the man, so she'd requested to take care of him personally. She had suspected all along that the choking incident was isolated, that there had to be more to his story. But she had been afraid. Too much had happened. She didn't get to follow up. But fate had given her a second chance. It was strange. She caught herself before her hand could unconsciously drift up and touch her neck. The neck he'd nearly broken in a poisoned, post-surgical haze. That was an anxious habit she'd have to break over a period of time.

The woman who had been poisoning him had employed a particularly cruel method. She'd established a relationship with him, created in him a need for her existence. Then she slowly poisoned him. She watched him go mad as if nothing was wrong. She let him pretend like it was unnoticeable while watching his sanity erode. Angela bit her lip and headed into his room. Watching him from the outside hall all day certainly wouldn't help him. Light flooded in from the window, illuminating the room. It felt warm and relaxing.

"Good Morning, Gabriel." She smiled as she walked in, holding his chart in one hand. A cursory flip through its pages told her what she already knew. He currently sat up in his bed looking at her expectantly. He was so, so earnest with her. It wasn't like that for him with everyone, Angela knew. But something had passed between them. He'd wronged her, and she'd forgiven him. He'd rarely experienced basic human compassion on that level. He'd been betrayed, been hurt, and clammed up. Angela thought it was a shame. One could not live without basic trust, not well, anyway. It was just as true that trust would always be tested, and sometimes broken. Gabriel had long ago deemed such relationships unworthy of the effort involved. She wanted to help him if she could.

"Morning, Doc. Can I go home now?" His gaze was penetrating. He never stopped looking at her when she was in the room. Despite that, Angela was not uncomfortable. He would probably never trust her, even if she'd saved him. She accepted that, though. He hadn't been manacled to the bed since he woke up on his first recovery day, disoriented but cognizant of his surroundings. He seemed like a totally different person than the man Angela had encountered before. Perhaps because he was. Mercury had a way of causing permanent changes if exposure continued for a long time. But short term exposure could be reversed. There was no way of really knowing how much he had really been harmed, so Angela didn't voice her speculation to him or anyone else. He was in good spirits, all things considered; that was enough.

"You can go home after I check your vitals, and you change into some clothes. They've changed your barracks room, though. I brought you a new set of keys. You're in the middle building now. Second floor. Actually, you're not too far from where I'm staying now." She offered him his new keycard pouch, which he accepted, being careful not to touch her as he took them.

"Ah, will you walk me home then?"

Angela was surprised by his request, but not entirely shocked.

"I don't mind, but you'll have to wait on me to finish my shift. I'm sure you'd rather go sooner…" She trailed off. The look on Gabriel's face said he'd wait all day.

"Well, I'll try to take a break in the middle of the day so you don't have to wait that long." She smiled.

"Thanks, Doc." He sounded relieved that he wouldn't have to go alone. 


	14. Chapter 14

There was starting to be an awful lot of blood on the ground. Jack spit out another mouthful into the dirty floor of the disused warehouse. He'd come back and clean it up, later. He rocked back on the balls of his heels, and stared the opponent across from him expectantly. Gabriel Reyes stared back at him, fists raised protectively, poised to fight. He looked incredibly eager. Jack never understood what Reyes got out of getting his ass handed to him, but he was more than happy to oblige. It was cathartic.

Nearly a month had passed since the man had nearly bashed his own brains out upon the side of a building, succumbing to a months-long internal struggle with a neurological toxin. Jack respected him, and felt for him at the same time. He was careful to display neither sentiment openly, as it would only arouse suspicion and distrust in his Reyes. That was how it was. Good things were never, ever to be trusted. The red-headed woman had simply reinforced the notion. He'd been like that before. If anything, it was just a sign that things were back to normal that they were here boxing and pretending like the world hadn't been going to hell despite their best efforts to counterbalance the chaos.

Jack's relationship with Gabe had been on the mend lately, and he didn't want to screw things up again. So, he tried to be as unassuming as possible. He never brought up the poisoning. He didn't bring up Angela, or discuss her unless Reyes did. Real friends were difficult to come by. Sometimes fate made it virtually impossible, even if both parties were willing. He scrubbed the thought. It was best not to think like that, or the hollow place he'd carefully bricked off inside himself would start to make its emptiness known once more.

"You're wide open, Morrison!" Reyes jeered, as he tossed a lazy left hook in Jacks direction. He had been. But Jack snapped back into the present, squashing his wandering thoughts. He dodged to the right, and threw a blow of his own back at Reyes, who parried it, and sucker punched him in the jaw. Stars exploded into his suddenly red vision, and Jack hit the dirt for the third time this bout. Blood from a dozen little scrapes and nicks stained the ground. It wasn't entirely one-sided though, Reyes looked like shit too. He would have had a black eye if he Jack didn't pull his punches. Neither one of them was fighting with the raging ferocity he was capable of, but injuries were still inevitable in a good sparring match. The worn out, red boxing gloves they were both using spared precious little from the blows that did land. They protected the hand of the one landing the punch more than the one on the receiving end of it.

"Alright, come on. I'm kicking your ass. What's going on? It's not fun if you're like this, you know. A man needs a challenge…not a…" Reyes just shrugged and gestured at Jack. All of Jack.

"Piss off. You're just getting lucky."

"Uhuh."

"Want to go another round?" Jack swung his legs up and bounced up to his feet neatly, without evidence of injury in his mannerisms. Feigning nonchalance, even as the blood ran down his face, Jack might have swaggered. He might have puffed out his chest, just a little too.

"Nah, man. I'm tired. Plus…I kind of have a…date. I think it's a date. I'm not really sure what to call it." Reyes hunched his shoulders and furrowed his thick, black eyebrows.

Jack blinked in confusion.

"With the Doctor" Reyes clarified. "She's helping me not hate everyone, apparently. It's working so far. I don't hate two people. Maybe three." There was a hint of amusement…and earnestness in Reyes manner.

Jack snorted. "That's not a date, it's therapy."

"Same thing."

Jack blinked. Was he serious? He couldn't be serious. "Ah well, if by the same, you mean entirely different in almost every way, then sure. I suppose I agree."

Jack felt his mood go south. Did Gabe have a real crush on Ang? What if she...No. No, it didn't matter. He'd missed his chance. If they both wanted that…he should stay out of it. But the two seemed nothing alike. Reyes was dark and broody, Angela was bright like the sun. When it hit her hair just right, she seemed to have a halo. It was something he only thought to himself. Angela, who looked like an Angel. Could she really like someone as dark and irreparably twisted as Gabe? Or was she being kind?

Reyes strutted over to the side of the room where they usually stowed their towels and water, and tossed his red gloves down onto the little card table that comprised the entirety of the warehouses furnishings. He plucked up a sweat towel and mopped his brow. "I think it's going well."

"Huh? Oh, well, that's good. It's a little creepy when you're in a good mood, though." Jack feigned disinterest. His insides screamed. "I have to get back, anyway. Amari probably wants to go home at some point tonight. We have a mission coming up, too. Somewhere in Rome. I need to look at the files. I think I'm going on this one, I need to shoot something. It's been too long; my aim might get rusty."

Reyes barked a laugh as he turned to head out the door. "Nothing wrong with that, man."

Jack followed him, out into the night, making no effort to catch up even though they were heading in the same direction. He needed to sort his thoughts before heading in to work.

*************************************************************************************

A few hours later, after the men had gone their separate ways, Jack sat alone in his office. He stared at his SAT phone. He stared at her number in his SAT phone. He touched her name. Over and over, he thought about what he wanted to say. He couldn't focus on the mission plan at all. He wondered if Gabe was delusional again, or if they really had something going on. Delusional, most likely. Who thought of their therapy session as a date? Shit. It was quite possible Gabriel Reyes did.

So the time ticked by, and Jack stared at her name on the display until he could bare it no more. He set the phone down quietly on a small filing cabinet. He needed to take a walk to clear his head and help him focus on work. It was high time he went down to the engineering workshop to check on how Lindholm's latest project was going. He was working on small, autonomous, auto-targeting turrets. They were fairly accurate, but "still needed some tweaking" apparently. Jack wasn't sure. He'd seen the things in action, and they murdered everything they took aim at, rapidly and efficiently.

He exited his office in the administration building, and walked down the long hall, pointedly trying not to stalk down it. Ostensibly, he did that an awful lot lately. He just thought he was walking with purpose. But, whatever. Amari had a lot of opinions about him, he didn't have to agree with every single one of them. He made it almost all the way to the front desk without running into anyone. That wasn't unusual, later in the evening, especially after midnight. There were two guys on watch on the inside of the building, and six outside patrolling the facility. Most of the work here was personnel related, the only stations that needed to be manned twenty-four hours a day were security positions. Even then, this was building was rather low on the totem pole compared to the research lab. The only people who would be on duty at all, besides those unlucky enough to be on graveyard watch, were a handful of low-ranking supervisors whose turn had come up to herd the unlucky ones in various directions. Jack didn't mind working late, so Amari frequently enjoyed evenings off even when it was her turn. One of them had to be on duty. The night shift was peaceful, and gave him plenty of time to catch up on planning missions.

But something struck Jack as odd. It was too quiet when he stepped outside. He looked around the building, but saw no evidence of the security detail assigned to it. There should be a rotation of men, with one every few meters. Something was not right. Jack stepped out of the street lights, and headed off towards the nearby security tower that overlooked the main thoroughfare. Instead of heading straight to it, he took a circuitous route. A footpath that lead to a little smoke pit between the tower and admin, though frequently used, was poorly illuminated. Jack ghosted through it towards the tower. Everything was still. Jack always carried several weapons, even when he was brooding. So, he fished out a tactical knife from his belt and proceeded quietly towards the door which lead to the stairs inside the tower. Nobody hailed him as he approached. At the very least, that was absolutely against protocol. What was going on?

The bland, gray stone tower rose above the grounds a good twenty-five meters, and boasted a single set of stairs to access its uppermost reaches. They spiraled around the inside of the building. Jack crept through up the darkened stairs with the worst in mind. This place should be illuminated. There should be personnel patrolling these stairs. And of course, there should be someone at the top of the tower as well. He moved as quickly as he safely could, without making a sound. He didn't have time to change clothes, so he was still dressed in officer blues. He'd be relatively easy to see, so there wasn't much hope of sneaking up on anyone. Better not to announce himself, either way.

When he reached the top of the stairs he found the door ajar. It was a heavy, iron contraption with a passcode that few knew…impossible to force. There was a pool of blood seeping out from the darkened room. Jack mentally prepared himself, and strode across the landing, towards the open door. He kicked it all the way open. The full interior was within view instantly.

Inside, the room was circular, the outside ringed with a desk. Various communications devices sat on top of it. Normally, there would be weapons as well. Those were missing. Much of the electrical equipment had been damaged, the cover plates on the control boards removed, and wires mangled. Plastic and metal switches littered the ground. What the in the hell had happened here? There were two chairs, with two bodies splayed unflatteringly within them. Both of the soldiers—a man and a woman—had had their throats slit from ear to ear. Otherwise, they sat in front of their little work station in the dark as if nothing was wrong. It wasn't the worst thing Jack had ever seen, but it was gruesome. He tried not to look at them directly. Their side arms had been removed. They'd never had the chance to fire them. The door had been opened from the inside…Jack shook his head. He'd had just about as much as he could stand of this.

There was nobody else around. It was so quiet…He could hear the steady drone of the radio, but not make out what was being said. The microphone dangled uselessly on its curly cord. Whoever had sabotaged much of the equipment hadn't taken the time to destroy the radio. They'd left a lot of the station intact. The property destruction seemed a bit random. The loudspeaker was out…and the wiring for the big spotlight. Jack stepped forward into the room with his knife still drawn, and moved to the intact panel he needed.

He reached out with one hand and flipped several switches on the control board in succession. He knew them by heart. Emergency Alert, Muster All hands. He flipped everything. Something was going on, and though he had no idea what that was, rousing everyone might prevent other people from becoming victims. With the alarm raised, Jack turned phoned Ana. It would be helpful to have his second around, even if she had only had a few hours of sleep. Some was better than none.

On impulse, Jack rotated the volume on the CB, and listened quietly. What he heard filled him with a sickening dread. Not even the murders that happened over the winter could fill him with the same sense of dread that the first wave invoked. Nothing. Because where the omnics went, death followed close behind. It was a war of attrition that humans simply could not win. They were buying time to create weapons that would put them on equal footing, but that's all they were doing. Jack knew it, deep down. So, he listened to the radio with silent horror. Had humanity finally run out of time?

"BASTIONS! BASTIONS! I REPEAT! MASSIVE FORCE INCOMING OUTSIDE LONDON DIRECTLY INTO THE CITY" The radio crackled and hissed. Jack changed frequencies.  
"BASTIONS UNITS REPORTED OUTSIDE WASHINGTON DC! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE" Again, he switched.  
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK, WE'RE UNDER— ""

"Air units in route to intercept forces massing outside of Sydney…"  
Jack flipped through the frequencies and heard more of the same on many of the channels.  
Whatever was going on, it was happening everywhere. And it seemed to coincide with the assault on their security detail.

Jack slammed the radio down onto the circular desk, and wheeled around to head back down the stairs. Men, women, civilians, and soldiers. Everyone was getting out of bed. Everyone. No one would be without arms. They could be next. It seemed like there was an ongoing attack across several locations. He exited the tower, and jogged back to the administrative offices using the main thoroughfare this time. Armed soldiers were beginning to patrol the streets. Any ne'er-do-wells lurking would be quickly caught. Jack was skeptical though. It looked, to him, like an inside job. He felt queasy with ineptitude and grief, but didn't let it show on his face as he greeted the people who worked beneath him.

Ana Amari reported within five minutes of his phone call. Typical. She lived in private housing, so she had to have still been dressed when he had called her.

"What's going on, Sir?" Dressed and professional, her salute was crisp, and her eyes questing for an explanation.

"The people on guard in the tower are dead. Those who I can find, anyway. Several have disappeared. I heard on the radio, that there's another wave coming right now. London, D.C., Sydney…." He trailed off as understanding dawned on her face. Back when the first wave had come, it had happened just like this. All at once. Communications lines had been intentionally severed beforehand, and massive attacks struck simultaneously around the world. It was here, the second wave. This time, they probably aimed to finish off the resistance forces humanity had begun to build. The skirmishes and supply line disruptions over the past couple of years had not been enough to delay the second coming of humanities' greatest threat. In other words, they were royally fucked.

Amari swallowed. She knew the implications well. Her daughter was no doubt sitting at home this very moment, unaware. "Very well, sir. I'll start reinforcing the perimeter, every gun on the wall will be manned. I'll have the civilians shelter— "

"No, don't do that."

"Sir?"

"Arm everyone, even the civilians." He meant it. If there were bastions coming, it would be futile to hide and wait to die. Everyone should be able to defend themselves from the robots. They didn't take prisoners, they felt no remorse. They killed without discrimination between young, old, fit, or frail.

"Yes sir." Ana's eyes were wide. She understood the implication. He hated that he had to make her afraid, she was a good second. But she also had a child. She had things to lose. Of course, she was going to be more afraid than him. Jack had…

She flashed into his thoughts before he could get ahold of himself. He did have friends. Oxton, and Dr. Ziegler. He would check on them after getting everyone assigned to a task. He finally had an excuse to see her. And it might be his last chance. It would have made him giddy if the potential for eminent death wasn't so high.

Reinhardt Wilhelm, and a group of well armored soldiers wielding insanely oversized hammers marched into view a few minutes later. Jack had made several calls, attempting to organize things outside of the orders he'd given Ana. The entire base was alive, every light was burning. Generators were running full blast to keep all the lights working. But they had to catch a killer, and prevent any others from sneaking in. Jack proffered the big German man a salute, this wasn't his home, but he was here fighting for it, and the lives of the people here as well. He liked the man a great deal. Reinhardt returned the gesture, settling his hammer over one shoulder.

"Alright, then, where are we fighting? We heard there was going to be one, so here we are. Ready to go." The big man slammed one of his massive ham-fists into his other open palm. He was so matter of fact. And his eagerness to do battle reminded him of Reyes earlier eagerness to have a fist fight. Some men just liked to brawl. In a way, Reinhardt also reminded Jack of the warriors he'd watched in historical movies, and read about in books as a child. Something too big to be true.

"Not here yet, Wilhelm. Coming, I think. We have to be ready. Can you and your men help?"

The big man grinned. "Of course, just tell us what you'd like to have done, and consider it so."

"Alright, so…there's ground breaking researching going on in the labs and in the medical facility as well. No one should be in either place right now. I need at least a couple of you go to secure it. There is a high possibility of assassins in one or both locations, so don't go alone. Travel in pairs, and remain vigilant. The two in the control tower…" Jack gestured with his thumb, tracing a line from one ear to the other.

The other men nodded, solemnly.

"Understood! Men! Let's move out!"

"Wilhelm."

The big man frozen in place, and his men stopped to wait. Jack gestured for him to come closer.

"I have a special assignment for you." Jack looked at him directly, and spoke as frankly as possible. He hoped that the fact that this was a "personal" mission came across clearly. The big man thumped his fist against his chest.

"Ana Amari has a daughter," Jack began. Wilhelm blinked. "Protect her."

Reinhardt smiled broadly, thumped his closed fist against his breastplate once more, and shouted "Sir!" before turning to march away.

And as quickly as that, the Crusaders abruptly about faced and marched towards the road to fulfill their mission. It would be the quickest way to get over to R&D on foot. With Amari arming the civilians and manning the walls, Jack's next move was to get in touch with all the lead officers—marines, aviation, and support. He scheduled an emergency brief to take place within the next ten minutes, with no excuses allowed for absenteeism or tardiness. By now, everyone should be out of bed. He relayed his messages both over short wave radio and via personal communications using his SAT phone. The administrative office, being close to his current location, was the meeting point. He huffed out a sigh and stared off into the eerily quiet night, waiting for hell to come. 


	15. Chapter 15

The stars were out. All of them. Angela stared up at them wishing things were different. That the world was different. But the world was…gone. Humanity had scratched out a sliver of what had been taken away from it during the first strike, and made some of the Omnic occupied territories their own…only to have it all snatched away again.

It was over. Everything that they had worked for was over. She stood on the flat roof of the fifth floor of the barracks, overlooking the edge. Everything was awash in the orange glow of streetlights. It was a new moon, so the areas outside of the influence of the light seemed darker by contrast. What was lurking out there, waiting? Assassins, perhaps? Humans who had colluded with the enemy to disable their security communications were most likely hiding among the ranks. They'd probably die with everyone else, never explaining why they committed the ultimate betrayal.

Angela felt nothing in particular as she stared off into the night, waiting for the inevitable. She wanted to feel something…profound. Maybe then, this sort of thing wouldn't happen. Maybe it was a sad accident that resulted from too little thought. Maybe she could feel a little regret. She'd miss her friends. She'd miss…Jack. She wanted to know a lot more about Jack. The thought of him made her feel warm on the inside, despite all efforts to squelch that feeling. The thought of him…

She pulled out her phone and looked down at it. She had a few numbers punched in to the speed dial. She'd even put his in the day he left her his card on her bed. The day he saved her life. That wasn't so long ago, but it seemed like it. She'd never called him before, but she always thought about it. She wondered what might have been. But he was busy, and she was busy. Neither of them had made the time for each other. For Angela, at first it had been out of the fear of being close to anyone. Then, it coalesced into a deep, dark regret. One of many, these days.

But they were coming. Everyone had been pulled out of bed, armed, and told to prepare for the worst. For her part, Angela had left the rifle the soldier had foisted on her back in Lena's room. Lena had reported for duty, so she wasn't there to nag. Angela didn't want to shoot at anything, today. She didn't have the heart. She was tired. She looked down from her vantage point on the fifth floor and saw men hustling back and forth, preparing for the force that was supposedly going to attack. Angela wondered how many of those men were tired, too. Without any of the hesitation that had colored her decision about talking to him previously, Angela tapped Jack's name on her phone once, and pressed the green call button. It rang.

It rang, and it rang. And then it went to voicemail. Angela was tremendously relieved. She did something she had wanted to do for a long time. She called Jack. But she didn't end up having to say anything at all. When the answering machine picked up, and started its spiel, Angela listened. Should she leave a message? What would she say? Feelings were a tricky thing. She had finally worked up the courage to call, and she couldn't figure out what she wanted to say.

As it turned out, Angela didn't have to make that decision. As the playback droned on about the options for leaving a message, the attack everyone had been expecting begun. She looked up at the stars, again, holding the phone to her ear. He couldn't have made a personalized greeting, so she could at least hear his voice one last time? Would he die first, or would she? Would it be fast?

Brilliant, colored lights suddenly bathed the base annex in a contrasting rainbow from one end to the other. For her part, Angela was now standing in a lovely emerald green ambiance. It was eerie. And quiet. And almost beautiful. Looking out from her emerald haze, though it was difficult, she could see the hospital. It was a brilliant red. What was the meaning of it all? She didn't have a lot of time to consider the significance, as several large crashes resounded and huge machines dropped directly on top of the roof with her.

Angela went flying forward, gracelessly swinging her arms. She landed on her stomach and elbows, the wind coming out of her lungs in a whoosh. The skin sheered from the back side of her arms along the concrete like a sticker being peeled off a bottle of medication. Oh, god it hurt. But Angela didn't have time to ruminate upon the pain for too long. The enemy was here, on the same building as her. Three huge robot-sentries. The red-eyed, emotionless murder machines had invaded. The same kind that had flattened her home town and many others. Vaguely, she got the sense that there were other crashes occurring off in the distance, but they weren't as concerning as what was right in front of her.

When she'd left her weapon in Lena's room, and wandered up here, she hadn't thought this would be the way things would turn out. She assumed there'd be some sort of firefight downstairs, and that she'd end up hiding until it was all said and done. As a doctor, she'd probably be captured. But facing three bastions, gun or no gun, she'd definitely be killed. She wasn't a fighter, even though she could shoot. She didn't have the weapon to try, anyway.

Angela clambered up to her knees, her arms hanging slack by her side. They weren't broken, but they were blisteringly painful. It didn't matter. She looked up at her doom. A spotlight from somewhere above cut through the emerald green, getting the attention of two of the three machines sharing the roof with her. The third one tracked in her direction. The mechanical thud of the thing shook the building. Angela's blood hair, caked with blood and dust, flew outward behind her in a sudden, unnatural breeze.

Angela realized she was still holding her phone. She raised it to her ear and listened. The voice recording had finished, and beeped for her to leave her message. She stared at the bastion coming towards her. She felt flush. She felt separated from her body.

"Jack…" she whispered into the phone.

"I'm up here Jack. I'm on the roof."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"I should have…done something differently."

"I'm sorry. Goodbye, Jack."

After that, it became too loud for Angela to hear her own voice. So, she dropped her phone right where she sat on her haunches. She imagined that It made a slight clatter where it had been discarded, but she couldn't hear anything. The roof started shaking, and debris began flying everywhere. Angela shut her eyes, and waited for death.

It took a minute, but she finally processed that there was a helicopter above the building. What's more, there were soldiers leaning out of the sides of the thing, and they were shelling the building, seemingly in an attempt to annihilate the Bastions. They couldn't have known she, or anyone for that matter, was up on the roof. Angela knew she would likely become collateral damage if she didn't flee immediately. Everything seemed so desperately loud. She was too shocked to duck or run or move. She just sat there, raised up on her knees, hands at her sides, looking up.

The debris began to rain more heavily down upon her as the chopper closed in on the roof, hot shells ricocheting. One smacked into her face, just below her eye. Another in her throat, winding her. It burned. Another roar shook the building as one of the robotic units was destroyed, causing a her to lose her tenuous balance. She toppled over, landing flat on her back. The bastion heading towards her raised its machine gun even as its companions were mowed down behind it. It was trained to kill. She was alive. But the machine never got the chance to kill her.

Gabriel Reyes burst through the doorway access leading onto the roof from the stairwell just behind her. He was clad in all black, looking more intense than she'd ever seen him. Black boots, pants, shirt, and cap. He had brandished two of the largest shotguns Angela had ever seen. He stepped directly in between the bastion and her, like some sort of suicidal maniac.

The hot shells began to pelt him, instead of her. He opened fire on the machine, firing each gun, one right after the other. The bastion jerked and writhed, and ultimately exploded into sparks. Even as it was damaged, the machine attempted to follow its directive. It raised its giant machine gun to point at Gabriel, but he rolled to the side. Thankfully, it followed him instead of sighting Angela instead. He was the bigger threat, after all.

Gabriel rolled to the left of the murderous robot's strange, mechanical feet as it shambled towards him, crippled by one of his earlier shots. He sent a volley of shots into its back, before it could turn around. Then he kicked it with one of his massively toned legs. It toppled over. The Helicopter that had been firing on the other two units was growing closer. If they were going to escape, they had to go now.

Gabriel threw down his guns and ran towards Angela. She was taken aback. She'd never seen him fight before. She'd never seen anyone fight back against the bastions and make it look so easy. She knew he was strong, but this was something entirely different. Was this the result of the Soldier X program Angela thought so little of? He scooped her up without a word and scrambled through the stair access, kicking the thing closed behind them. They'd gone two flights down before he returned her to her own feet.

"Ah, fuck me. Sorry, adrenaline. Are you …" he looked at her arms, face, and chest area and winced. "How are you feeling?" Angela thought that was oddly evasive. She must look worse than she felt.

"I'm fine. Where did you come from?" They continued walking down the stairs, though Angela had no idea where they were heading with those machines already on top of the building.

Explosions continued to rock the building, as low flying helicopters exchanged fire with the murderous machines above, and nearby.

Angela wondered if it was possible that the base would survive, after all. She'd never see a military firefight up close. If all the soldiers were as efficient as Gabriel, they might have a chance. Another huge explosion rocked the building, this one sending shockwaves through the barracks building powerful enough to slam them both into the wall. Either the third machine had been destroyed, or the Helicopter had crashed. Gabriel cursed. Angela was dazed. She was beginning to feel very weird. Maybe this was a little too much excitement for one day. He had blood running down his face, but seemed unconcerned by it. She wondered how bad she looked that he was staring at her as if he wanted to pick her up and carry her again, but didn't want to risk upsetting her. He was always careful like that. Angela wouldn't have minded, he was a close friend.

Instead, he helped her right herself and continued down the stairs. He was always careful like that.

"Where are we going, Gabe? Where can we possibly go?" She panted, trying to keep up without slowing him down too much.

"My room!"

Angela Blinked.

"Why are we going there?"

"I'm going there for weapons. You're going to stay there and lock the door." He was quite matter of fact about the whole business of telling her what to do. She reworked her entire earlier inner-dialogue about his unassuming, careful nature with her.

They reached the second floor, and entered the hall unchallenged. Nothing seemed to be going on here, at least.

He walked quickly down the hall, and Angela struggled to keep up. She felt…really…out of sorts. Shock? Adrenaline? She didn't remember hitting her head. They reached his room within a minute or two. Angela hadn't been keeping track, really. Every hall in every barracks building looked the same. Each door looked the same. The only difference from one room to another was the number of occupants, and therefore, the number of beds.

Gabriel slid a keycard into his door and waited for her to catch up patiently. They'd become good friends over the past few weeks, and he seemed to understand her boundaries more than anyone. She tried to respect his, as well.

Once they entered the room, he gestured for her to head inwards towards the bathroom.

"Go have a look. You'll probably want to wash up and change. You can wear one of my shirts, for now. They'll probably fit you like a dress, but…" he shrugged, and gestured at all of her. Geeze, she must be a righteous mess.

She was. She trudged over to the bathroom and saw herself for the first time since the rooftop adventure. Her face was a mask of blood, and dirt. She couldn't recognize herself. Her shirt…was completely torn open, and her chest was full of little shards of glass and tiny sharp rocks. Angela had new admiration for Gabriel's restraint. Her entire mangled chest was on display, and he'd said nothing to keep her from being upset about it until they were safe. It was all basically superficial, except for her forearms. Those were a mess. Angela bet the superficial wounds would be the more painful to clean and bandage. Getting all the dirt out of her chest would be the hardest part.

Gabriel approached the still-opened bathroom door with a neat stack of items for her use. A black shirt, a black hoodie, a couple rolls of bandages, and a tiny battery operated blaster. Did the man ever wear anything but black these days?

She smiled in gratitude, concealing her thoughts behind a mask of pure gratitude.

"Thank you, so much. You saved me. Thanks for your help." She sorted the items carefully on the large, flat, beige surface that enclosed the sink basin.

He considered her for a moment, his serious face even more serious than usual. "Well, I only owe you for the rest of my life, so think nothing of it. Nothing. I won't be going far. I just want to make sure those machines are gone. I'm not going to leave the Barracks, no matter what happens." He paused for a moment, considering his words.

"I do need to check in with Morrison and tell him you're not dead, and the building is still here. He sent me personally, by the way." That last bit sounded wry to Angela. Reyes arched an eye and seemed to gauge her reaction to this bit of news. He knew exactly how she felt about Jack. She didn't try to hide it. Lena never shut up about it. There was no keeping a secret around here. She gave him her best poker face. She was quite good at them, being a physician. One simply didn't tell people they were dying outright. They'd never survive that way.

"Ah." Was all she said.

He smirked at her, a little knowingly, and grabbed his guns. Perhaps her response had been too neutral. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Please, please don't leave." His tone took on a little imploring note towards the end. He really wanted her to stay here, where he thought she'd be safe.

"I'll see what I can do." Angela always appreciated his politeness. He was the exact opposite of Jack. Utterly unassuming, yet powerful. He also had a darkness within him Jack did not have. Truly, though, she had no intention of leaving. She wanted to get cleaned up and bandage her cuts, if she had the time.

As the roar of machine guns, turrets, helicopters, and Gatling guns continued to rage, Angela wondered what kind of sane person would want to wonder out into such a din. The rare sight of a slight smile on Gabriel's face as he strode towards the door, guns in hand, was her only answer.

He waved as he went.


End file.
